"It wouldn't be any good telegraphing them to come back and be properly
married in church?"

"Not the slightest," said Zora; "but I'll do it if you like."

So the telegram was dispatched to "Septimus Dix, Boulogne Boat,
Folkestone," and Mrs. Oldrieve took a brighter view of the situation.

"We have done what we can, at any rate," she said by way of
self-consolation.

Now it so happened that Emmy, like many another person at their wits' end,
had given herself an amazing amount of unnecessary trouble. Her flight had
not been noticed till the maid had entered her room at half-past eight. She
had obviously packed up some things in a handbag. Obviously again she had
caught the eight-fifteen train from Ripstead, as she had done once or twice
before when rehearsals or other theatrical business had required an early
arrival in London. Septimus's telegram had not only allayed no
apprehension, but it had aroused a mild curiosity. Septimus was master of
his own actions. His going up to London was no one's concern. If he were
starting for the Equator a telegram would have been a courtesy. But why
announce his arrival in London? Why couple it with Emmy's? And why in the
name of guns and musical comedies should Zora worry? But when she reflected
that Septimus did nothing according to the orthodox ways of men, she
attributed the superfluous message to his general infirmity of character,
smiled indulgently, and dismissed the matter from her mind. Mrs. Oldrieve
had nothing to dismiss, as she had been led to believe that Emmy had gone
up to London by the morning train. She only bewailed the flighty
inconsequence of modern young women, until she reflected that Emmy's father
had gone and come with disconcerting unexpectedness from the day of their