This was not true. The modern girl does not wear very much, but she does wear something. Laura was wearing several things, each damper than the others. A hundred despairing schemes flitted through Mr. Priestley’s mind. Now that the handcuffs were off, there was no need for them to pretend they were married. Should he say they were brother and sister? But then that would look suspicious, and real suspicion was the very last thing they wanted to arouse. There would certainly be an account of the crime in the next morning’s papers, and then if their behaviour gave the landlady any inkling that—— Laura’s laugh interrupted his frenzied thoughts. “I see,” said Laura quite naturally, “that we shall have to tell you the truth. No, we’re not——” What Laura was going to say was never revealed, for with a despairing cry Mr. Priestley flung himself against this piece of suicidal short-sightedness. “No!” said Mr. Priestley loudly. “No, we _weren’t_ married—at this time yesterday. Now we are. You’re right, my darling,” he went on rapidly, with the resource of desperation, “we must tell Mrs. Er-er-h’rrm the truth. We’ve eloped! We—er—we were married at a registry office this afternoon, with—with a key, you know. Not even time to buy the ring. Oh, quite on the spur of the moment, it all was. Ha, Ha! Er—ha, ha!” He laughed without mirth, and waited breathlessly. “Well, _there_ now!” exclaimed the landlady, her clouds completely dispersed. “Well, isn’t that romantic? With a key, now! I’ve heard tell of that before. Well, well! Eloped, did you say? Now, that is nice. You know, I _thought_ there was something, I did. Fancy that! I always was a one for romance, meself. Of course you go down to the kitchen then, sir. You’ll find it nice and warm in there and when you come up again in ten minutes I’ll have your lady all tucked up in bed and dry and warm as toast for you.” “Thank you,” said Mr. Priestley wanly, taking some pains to avoid his lady’s eye. “The poor lamb!” continued the landlady fondly, eyeing that now fuming young woman with delighted fondness. “Catching her death of cold, and all on account of shyness, as you might say. I used to feel like that once with my Will, I remember, but bless you, miss—or—mum, I _should_ say—you’ll soon grow out of that.” “Indeed?” said the lamb coldly. It was a very cold lamb. “I think I’ll be getting downstairs, d-dearest,” mumbled Mr. Priestley, intercepting a most unlamblike glance. “Er—so long.” “Wait a minute, sir,” put in the landlady. “I know the very thing—you must have a glass of my elderberry wine first. I’ll get some this very minute. That’ll stop you catching cold, both of you. Bless me, why didn’t I think of that before? Never mind, I’ll have it up in a minute.” She whisked out of the room and shut the door behind her.