“Make you out quite a desperate character, don’t they, old darling?” she drawled, looking up into my eyes, laughing. I did my best to share her levity, but I was secretly annoyed at so much publicity. Taking the paper from her, I patted her on the shoulder. “Come, drink up your coffee, little woman; it’s getting cold. Why waste time over all this nonsense? You’re out of it. It’s all ended.” “But it isn’t. Paris won’t let it be ended. They’re making more row about me than they did about La Gioconda. They’ve offered a reward of five thousand francs for my recovery.” “And if they did find us, they couldn’t do anything. Discovery won’t be easy.” “Won’t it? We were seen yesterday going together towards St. Cloud; they’ve got the number of my car and particulars of my dress from Marie.” “But didn’t you warn Marie?” “Silly fellow, how should I? Didn’t know myself what I was going to do when we started--at least I didn’t know positively.” “Humph!” “Ripping, isn’t it, for a chap like you as ’as allaws lived decent and ’oped to die respected? Dannie, Dannie, you’re a regular Robert the Devil--only I stole you, and nobody’ll ever believe it.” “It doesn’t matter what they say about me; it’s your good name that matters.--I promised yesterday never to speak another word about marriage. May I break my promise?” “You’ve done it. Go on, John Bunyan.” “Well, here’s my plan: that we motor through to Cherbourg and skip over to Southampton.” “And then?” “Get a special license in the shortest time possible. When we’re discovered, you’ll be Lady Cardover.” “But it isn’t necessary that I should be Lady Cardover. I’m not ashamed of anything. Are you?” “Perhaps not; but there’s nothing to be gained by dodging the conventions. I ought to know; I’ve been dodging ’em ever since I can remember. I’ve come to see that there’s something grand about conventions; they’re a sort of wall to protect someone you love dearly from attack. We’re man and wife already by everything that’s sacred; but we shall never be securely happy unless we’re married.” Our meal was finished. We wandered off into the orchard at the back. When we were safe from watching eyes, Fiesole gave me her hand. We came to a place where trees grew closer together; here we rested. She leant against me, her face wistful and troubled; the sun through the branches scattered gold and the blossoms snowflakes in her hair. Presently she disentangled herself from my arms, and jumped to her feet, smiling gently. “I’ve a surprise for you, my virgin man. I want you to stop here for half an hour and promise not to follow.” “A long time to be without you.” “But promise.” “All right. Very well.” She stooped over me quietly before she went. I watched her pass swaying across the dappled turf, under the dancing shadows and rain of petals. Just before she entered the courtyard, she turned and waved her hand.