Selwyn. "You think it's dreadful in me not to marry your brother--"

"No, I don't. I think it would be much more dreadful in you if you
did marry him." Selwyn's hands made gesture. "However, we'll leave
that out. You say you told your mother you intended to marry Tom?"

Handkerchief to her lips, she nodded. "I told her, and Tom wrote
her, asking her consent. She wouldn't give it, and said I was
ungrateful and had no ambition, and that if she had a stroke I'd be
the cause. She's never had a stroke and is very healthy, but--"

Bursting into fresh tears, Madeleine this time hid her face in her
hands, and Tom, wanting much to comfort, miserably ignorant of how to
do it, and consciously awkward and restrained in the presence of
witnesses, stood by her side, his hand on her shoulder, and at sight
of him I reached swift decision.

"I'm glad you told her. You've been open and square and asked her
consent. One can't wait indefinitely for consent to do things." I
got up and took Madeleine by the hand. "Come in my room and take off
your hat and coat. When we come back we'll talk about what is best
to do."

Five minutes later we were back and, eyes bathed and face powdered,
Madeleine gave evidence of fresh injections of courage, and quickly
we began to plan. The 4 A.M. train was the best to take, but for
half an hour we talked of whether Shelby or Claxon was the better
town to go to for the marriage ceremony, which at either place could
be performed without the consent of parent or guardian, and
irrespective of the age of the applicants for the same. Though