"There was only one thing that disappointed me," Mrs. Malt was saying at
the dinner table of the Cologne hotel, "and that wasn't so much what you
would call a disappointment as a surprise. White windows-blinds in a
robber castle on the Rhine I did not expect to see."
I slipped away before momma had time to announce and explain her
disappointments, but I heard her begin. Then I felt safe, for criticism
of the Rhine is absorbing matter for conversation. The steamer's custom
of giving one stewed plums with chicken is an affront to civilisation to
last a good twenty minutes by myself. I tried to occupy and calm
Isabel's mind with it as we walked over to the station, under the twin
towers of the Cathedral, but with indifferent success. To add to her
agitation at this crisis of her life, the top button came off her glove,
and when that happened I felt the inutility of words.
We passed the policemen on the Cathedral square with affected
indifference. We believed we were not liable to arrest, but policemen,
when one is eloping, have a forbidding look. We refrained, by mutual
arrangement, from turning once to look back for possible pursuers, but
that is not a thing I would undertake to do again under similar
circumstances. We even had the hardihood to buy a box of chocolates on
the way, that is, Isabel bought them, while I watched current events at
the confectioner's door. The station was really only about seven
minutes' walk from the hotel, but it seemed an hour before I was able to
point out Dicky, alert and expectant, on the edge of the platform behind
the line of cabs.
"So near the fulfilment of his hopes, poor fellow," I remarked.
"Yes," concurred Isabel, "but do you know I almost wish he wasn't
coming."
"Don't tell him so, whatever you do," I exclaimed. "I know Dicky's
sensitive nature, and it is just as likely as not that he would take you
at your word. And I will not elope with you alone."
I need not have been alarmed. Isabel had no intention of reducing the
party at the last moment. I listened for protests and hesitations when
they met, but all I heard was, "_Have_ you got the bag?"
Dicky had the bag, the tickets, the places, everything. He had already
assumed, though only a husband of to-morrow, the imperative and
responsible connection with Isabel's arrangements. He told her she was
to sleep with her head toward the engine, that she was to drink nothing
but soda-water at any of the stations, and that she must not, on any
account, leave the carriage when we changed for Paris until he came for
her. It would be my business to see that these instructions were
carried out.
"What shall I do," I asked, "if she cries in the night?"
But Dicky was sweeping us toward the waiting-room, and did not hear me.
He placed us carefully in the seats nearest the main door, which opened
upon the departure platform, full of people hurrying to and fro, and of
the more leisurely movement of shunting trains. The lamps were lighted,
though twilight still hung about; the scene was pleasantly exciting. I
said to Isabel that I never thought I should enjoy an elopement so much.
"_I_ shall enjoy settling down," she replied thoughtfully. "Dicky has
promised me that all the china shall be hand-painted."
"You won't mind my leaving you for five seconds," said Mr. Dod, suddenly
exploring his breast-pocket; "the train doesn't leave for a quarter of
an hour yet, and I find I haven't a smoke about me," and he opened the
door.
"Not more that five seconds then," I said, for nothing is more trying to
the nerves than to wait for a train which is due in a few minutes and a
man who is buying cigars at the same time.
Dicky left the door open, and that was how I heard a strangely familiar
voice, with an inflexion of enforced calm and repression, suddenly
address him from behind it.
"_Good evening, Dod!_"
I did not shriek, or even grasp Isabel's hand. I simply got up and
stood a little nearer the door. But I have known few moments so
electrical.
"My dear chap, how _are_ you?" exclaimed Dicky. "How are you? Staying in
Cologne? I'm just off to Paris."
I thought I heard a heavy sigh, but it was somewhat lost in the
trundling of the porters' trucks.
"Then," said Arthur Page, for I had not been deceived, "it is as I
supposed."
"What did you suppose, old chap?" asked Dicky in a joyous and expansive
tone.
"You do not go alone?"
The bitterness of this was not a thing that could be communicated to
paper and ink.
"Why, no," said Dicky, "the fact is----"
I saw the wave--it was characteristic--with which Mr. Page stopped him.
"I have been made acquainted with the facts," he said. "Do not dwell
upon them. I do not, cannot, blame you, if you have really won her
heart."
"So far as I know," said Dicky, with some hauteur, "there's nothing in
it to give _you_ the hump."
"Why waste time in idle words?" replied Arthur. "You will lose your
train. I could never forgive myself if I were the cause of that."
"You won't be," said Dicky sententiously, looking at his watch.
"But I must ask--must demand--the privilege of one parting word," said
Arthur firmly. "Do not be apprehensive of any painful scene. I desire
only to wish her every happiness, and to bid her farewell."
Mr. Dod, though on the eve of his wedding day, was not wholly oblivious
of the love affairs of other people. I could see a new-born and
overwhelming comprehension of the situation in his face as he put his
head in at the door and beckoned to Isabel. Evidently he could not trust
himself to speak.
"Miss Portheris," he said, with magnificent self-control, "Mr. Page. Mr.
Page would like to wish you every happiness and to bid you farewell,
Isabel, and I don't see why he shouldn't. We have still five minutes."
There are limits to the propriety of all practical jokes, and I walked
out at once to assure Arthur that his misunderstanding was quite
natural, and somewhat less exquisitely humorous than Mr. Dod appeared to
find it.
"I am merely eloping too," I said, "in case anything should happen to
Isabel." Realising that this was also being misinterpreted, I added,
"She is not accustomed to travelling alone."
We had shaken hands, and that always makes a situation more normal, but
there was still plainly an enormous amount to clear up, and painfully
little time to do it in, though Dicky with great consideration
immediately put Isabel into the carriage and followed her to its
remotest corner, leaving me standing at the door, and Arthur holding it
open. The second bell rang as I learned from Mr. Page that the
Pattersons had gone to Newport this summer, and that it was extremely
hot in New York when he left. As the guard came along the platform
shutting up the doors of the train, Arthur's agitation increased, and I
saw that his customary suffering in connection with me, was quite as
great as anybody could desire. The guard had skipped our carriage, but
it was already vibrating in departure--creaking--moving. I looked at
Arthur in a manner--I confess it--which annihilated our two months of
separation.
"Then since you're not going to marry Dod," he inquired breathlessly,
walking along with the train--"I've heard various reports--whom, may I
ask, _are_ you going to marry?"
"Why, nobody," I said, "unless----"
"Well, I should think so!" ejaculated Arthur, and in spite of the
frightful German language used by the guard, he jumped into the
carriage.
He has maintained ever since that he was obliged to do it in order to
explain his presence on the platform, which was, of course, carrying the
matter to its logical conclusion. It seemed that the Senator had advised
him to come over and meet us accidentally in Venice, where he had
intimated that reunion would be only a question of privacy and a full
moon. On his arrival at Venice--it was _his_ gondola that we shared--the
Senator had discouraged him for the moment, and had since constantly
telegraphed him that the opportune moment had not yet arrived. Finally
poppa had written to say that, though he grieved to announce that I
was engaged to Dicky, and he could not guarantee any disengagement, he
was still operating to that end. This, however, precipitated Mr. Page to
Cologne, where observation of our movements at a distance brought him to
the wrong conclusion, but fortunately to the right platform. As Isabel
remarked, if such things were put in books nobody would believe them.
[Illustration: "Whom _are_ you going to marry?"]
It seemed quite unreasonable and absurd when we talked it over that
Arthur and I should travel from Cologne to Dover merely to witness the
nuptials of Dicky and Isabel. As Dicky pointed out, moreover, our moral
support when it came to the interview with Mrs. Portheris would be much
more valuable if it were united. There would be the registrar--one
registrar would do--and there would be the opportunity of making it a
square party. These were Dicky's arguments; Arthur's were more personal
but equally convincing, and I must admit that I thought a good deal of
the diplomatic anticipation of that magnificent wedding which was to
illustrate and adorn the survival of the methods of the Doge of Venice
in the family of a Senator of Chicago. And thus it was that we were all
married sociably together in Dover the following morning, despatching a
telegram immediately afterwards to the Senator at the Cologne hotel as
follows:
"We have eloped.
(Signed) R. and I. Dod.
A. and M. Page."
Later on in the day we added details, to show that we bore no malice,
and announced that we were prepared to await the arrival of the rest of
the party for any length of time at Dover.
We even went down to the station to meet them, where recriminations and
congratulations were so mingled that it was impossible, for some time,
to tell whether we were most blessed or banned. Even in the confusion of
the moment, however, I noticed that Mr. Mafferton made Miss Callis's
baggage his special care, and saw clearly in the cordiality of her
sentiments toward me, and the firmness of her manner in ordering him
about, that the future peer had reached his last alternative.
I rejoice to add that the day also showed that even Count Filgiatti had
fallen, in the general ordering of fates, upon happiness with honour. I
noticed that Emmeline vigorously protected him from the Customs officer
who wished to confiscate his cigarettes, and I mentioned her air of
proprietorship to her father.
"Why, yes," said Mr. Malt, "he offered himself as a count you see, and
Emmeline seemed to think she'd like to have one, so I closed with him.
There isn't anything likely to come of it for three or four years, but
he's willing to wait, and she's got to grow."
I expressed my felicitations, and Mr. Malt added somewhat regretfully
that it would have been better if he'd had more in his clothes, but that
was what you had to expect with counts; as a rule they didn't seem to
have what you might call any money use for pockets. In the meantime
they were taking him home to educate him in the duties of American
citizenship. Emmeline put it to me briefly, "I'm not any Daisy Miller,"
she said, "and I prefer to live out of Rome."
Once a year the present Lady Mafferton invites Mrs. Portheris to tea,
and I know they discuss my theory of engagements in a critical spirit.
We have never seen either Miss Nancy or Miss Cora Bingham again, and I
should have forgotten the names of Mr. Pabbley and Mr. Hinkson by this
time if I had not written them down in earlier chapters. Arthur and I
have not yet made up our minds to another visit to England. We have
several friends there, however, whom we appreciate exceedingly, in
spite, as we often say to one another, of their absurd and deplorable
accent.
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End of Project Gutenberg's A Voyage of Consolation, by Sara Jeannette Duncan