"My darling, I fear you will think my plans very prosaic. I think we are just going to Geelong--till to-morrow or next day. You see it is so cold, and I don't want you to be fagged with a long journey. Mount Macedon would have been charming, but I could not get accommodation. At Geelong, where we are both strangers, we shall be practically to ourselves, and it is better to make sure of a good hotel than of romantic scenery, if you have to choose between the two--for the present, at any rate--vulgar and sordid as that sentiment may appear. We can go where we like afterwards. I have just got a telegram to say that things will be ready for us. You left it to me, you know." "I am only too happy to leave everything to you," she said, at once. "And I don't care where we go---it will be the same everywhere." "I think it will, Elizabeth--I think we shall be more independent of our circumstances than most people. Still I am glad to have made sure of a warm fire and a good dinner for you at your journey's end. We start at twenty minutes past four, I may tell you, and we are to get home--_home_, my dear, which will be wherever you and I can be together, henceforth--at about half-past six. That will give you time to rest before dinner. And you will not be very tired, after such a little journey, will you?" "Elizabeth!" called a voice from the corridor above their heads, "send Mr. Yelverton away, and come upstairs at once." So Mr. Yelverton departed in his cab, to pick up old Brion and await his bride at the nearest church; and he was presently followed by the major in his brougham, and a little later by Mrs. Duff-Scott's capacious open carriage, containing herself and the three sisters, all in woollen walking dresses and furs. And Elizabeth really was married, still to her own great surprise. She stood in the cold and silent church, and took Kingscote, her lover, to be her lawful husband, and legally ratified that irrevocable contract in the clearest handwriting. He led her out into the windy road, when it was over, and put her into the brougham--the major taking her place in the other carriage, and on their way back both bride and bridegroom were very serious over their exploit. "You have the most wonderful trust in me," he said to her, holding her still ungloved hand, and slipping the wedding ring round on her finger--"the most amazing trust." "I have," she assented, simply. "It rather frightens me," he went on, "to see you taking me so absolutely for granted. Do you really think I am quite perfect, Elizabeth?" "No," she replied, promptly. "Well, I am glad of that. For I am far from it, I assure you." Then he added, after a pause, "What are the faults you have to find with me, then?" "None--none," she responded fervently. "Your faults are no faults to me, for they are part of you. I don't want you perfect--I only want you to be always as I know you now."