“But why not let one of them take the back seat?” demanded the stout lady, pointing her reticule at Minnie and myself; “they say they’d like it. Let them have it.” The coachman rose, and addressed his remarks generally. “Put her up at the back, or leave her behind,” he directed. “Man and wife have never been separated on this coach since I started running it fifteen year ago, and they ain’t going to be now.” A general cheer greeted this sentiment. The stout lady, now regarded as a would-be blighter of love’s young dream, was hustled into the back seat, the whip cracked, and away we rolled. So here was the explanation. We were in a honeymoon district, in June—the most popular month in the whole year for marriage. Every two out of three couples found wandering about the New Forest in June are honeymoon couples; the third are going to be. When they travel anywhere it is to the Isle of Wight. We both had on new clothes. Our bags happened to be new. By some evil chance our very umbrellas were new. Our united ages were thirty-seven. The wonder would have been had we _not_ been mistaken for a young married couple. A day of greater misery I have rarely passed. To Minnie, so her aunt informed me afterwards, the journey was the most terrible experience of her life, but then her experience, up to that time, had been limited. She was engaged, and devotedly attached, to a young clergyman; I was madly in love with a somewhat plump girl named Cecilia who lived with her mother at Hampstead. I am positive as to her living at Hampstead. I remember so distinctly my weekly walk down the hill from Church Row to the Swiss Cottage station. When walking down a steep hill all the weight of the body is forced into the toe of the boot, and when the boot is two sizes too small for you, and you have been living in it since the early afternoon, you remember a thing like that. But all my recollections of Cecilia are painful, and it is needless to pursue them. Our coach-load was a homely party, and some of the jokes were broad—harmless enough in themselves, had Minnie and I really been the married couple we were supposed to be, but even in that case unnecessary. I can only hope that Minnie did not understand them. Anyhow, she looked as if she didn’t.