On the afternoon of the eighth day George Morris and Katherine Earle
stood together on the deck of the tender, looking back at the huge
steamship which they had just left.
“When we return,” he said, “I think we shall choose this ship.”
“Return?” she answered, looking at him.
“Why, certainly; we are going back, are we not?”
“Dear me,” she replied, “I had not thought of that. You see, when I
left America I did not intend to go back.”
“Did you not? I thought you were only over here for the trip.”
“Oh no. I told you I came on business, not on pleasure.”
“And did you intend to stay over here?”
“Certainly.”
“Why, that’s strange; I never thought of that.”
“It is strange, too,” said Katherine, “that I never thought of going
back.”
“And—and,” said the young man, “won’t you go?”
She pressed his arm, and stood motionless.
“_Where thou goest, I will go. Thy people shall be my people._”
“That’s a quotation, I suppose?” said George.
“It is,” answered Katherine.
“Well, you see, as I told you, I am not very well read up on the books
of the day.”
“I don’t know whether you would call that one of the books of the day
or not,” said Katherine; “it is from the Bible.”
“Oh,” answered the other. “I believe, Kate, you will spend the rest of
your life laughing at me.”
“Oh no,” said the young lady, “I always thought I was fitted for
missionary life. Now, look what a chance I have.”
“You have taken a big contract, I admit.”
They had very little trouble with their luggage. It is true that the
English officials looked rather searchingly in Katherine’s trunk for
dynamite, but, their fears being allayed in that direction, the trunks
were soon chalked and on the back of a stout porter, who transferred
them to the top of a cab.
“I tell you what it is,” said George, “it takes an American
Custom-house official to make the average American feel ashamed of his
country.”
“Why, I did not think there was anything over there that could make you
feel ashamed of your country. You are such a thorough-going American.”
“Well, the Customs officials in New York have a knack of making a
person feel that he belongs to no place on earth.”
They drove to the big Liverpool hotel which is usually frequented by
Americans who land in that city, and George spent the afternoon in
attending to business in Liverpool, which he said he did not expect to
have to look after when he left America, but which he desired very much
to get some information about.
Katherine innocently asked if she could be of any assistance to him,
and he replied that she might later on, but not at the present state of
proceedings.
In the evening they went to a theatre together, and took a long route
back to the hotel.
“It isn’t a very pretty city,” said Miss Earle.
“Oh, I think you are mistaken,” replied her lover. “To me it is the
most beautiful city in the world.”
“Do you really mean that?” she said, looking at him with surprise.
“Yes, I do. It is the first city through which I have walked with the
lady who is to be my wife.”
“Oh, indeed,” remarked the lady who was to be his wife, “and have you
never walked with—”
“Now, see here,” said Morris, “that subject is barred out. We left all
those allusions on the steamer. I say I am walking now with the lady
who _is_ to be my wife. I think that statement of the case is perfectly
correct, is it not?”
“I believe it is rather more accurate than the average statement of the
average American.”
“Now, Katherine,” he said, “do you know what information I have been
looking up since I have been in Liverpool?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said. “Property?”
“No, not property.”
“Looking after your baggage, probably?”
“Well, I think you have got it this time. I _was_ looking after my
baggage. I was trying to find out how and when we could get married.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, oh! Does that shock you? I find they have some idiotic
arrangement by which a person has to live here three months before he
can be married, although I was given some hope that, by paying for it,
a person could get a special licence. If that is the case, I am going
to have a special licence to-morrow.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, indeed. Then we can be married at the hotel.”
“And don’t you think, George, that I might have something to say about
that?”
“Oh, certainly! I intended to talk with you about it. Of course I am
talking with you now on that subject. You admitted the possibility of
our getting married. I believe I had better get you to put it down in
writing, or have you say it before witnesses, or something of that
sort.”
“Well, I shouldn’t like to be married in a hotel.”
“In a church, then? I suppose I can make arrangements that will include
a church. A parson will marry us. That parson, if he is the right sort,
will have a church. It stands to reason, therefore, that if we give him
the contract he will give us the use of his church, _quid pro quo_, you
know.”
“Don’t talk flippantly, please. I think it better to wait until
to-morrow, George, before you do anything rash. I want to see something
of the country. I want us to take a little journey together to-morrow,
and then, out in the country, not in this grimy, sooty city, we will
make arrangements for our marriage.”
“All right, my dear. Where do you intend to go?”
“While you have been wasting your time in getting information relating
to matrimony, I have been examining time-tables. Where I want to go is
two or three hours’ ride from here. We can take one of the morning
trains, and when we get to the place I will allow you to hire a
conveyance, and we will have a real country drive. Will you go with
me?”
“_Will_ I? You better believe I will. But you see, Katherine, I want to
get married as soon as possible. Then we can take a little trip on the
Continent before it is time for us to go back to America. You have
never been on the Continent, have you?”
“Never.”
“Well, I am very glad of that. I shall be your guide, philosopher, and
friend, and, added to that, your husband.”
“Very well, we will arrange all that on our little excursion
to-morrow.”