At the station Lady Constantine appeared, standing expectant; he saw her
face from the window of the carriage long before she saw him. He no
sooner saw her than he was satisfied to his heart's content with his
prize. If his great-uncle had offered him from the grave a kingdom
instead of her, he would not have accepted it.

Swithin jumped out, and nature never painted in a woman's face more
devotion than appeared in my lady's at that moment. To both the
situation seemed like a beautiful allegory, not to be examined too
closely, lest its defects of correspondence with real life should be
apparent.

They almost feared to shake hands in public, so much depended upon their
passing that morning without molestation. A fly was called and they
drove away.

'Take this,' she said, handing him a folded paper. 'It belongs to you
rather than to me.' At crossings, and other occasional pauses, pedestrians turned their faces
and looked at the pair (for no reason but that, among so many, there were
naturally a few of the sort who have eyes to note what incidents come in
their way as they plod on); but the two in the vehicle could not but fear
that these innocent beholders had special detective designs on them.

'You look so dreadfully young!' she said with humorous fretfulness, as
they drove along (Swithin's cheeks being amazingly fresh from the morning
air). 'Do try to appear a little haggard, that the parson mayn't ask us
awkward questions!' Nothing further happened, and they were set down opposite a shop about
fifty yards from the church door, at five minutes to eleven.