hem. "To be near you! To be in the same house
with you!" he went on vehemently feeling that he had struck the right
note. "You don't know the anguish I went through after I read that
letter of yours. I was mad! I was ... well, to return to the point, will
you marry me?"

Billie sat looking straight before her. The car, now on the main road,
moved smoothly on.

"Will you marry me?"

Billie rested her hand on her chin and searched the darkness with
thoughtful eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

The car raced on.

"Will you marry me?" said Sam. "Will you marry me? Will you marry me?"

"Oh, don't talk like a parrot," cried Billie. "It reminds me of Bream."

"But will you?"

"Yes," said Billie.

Sam brought the car to a standstill with a jerk, probably very bad for
the tyres.

"Did you say 'yes'?"

"Yes!"

"Darling!" said Sam, leaning towards her. "Oh, curse this helmet!"

"Why?"

"Well, I rather wanted to kiss you and it hampers me."

"Let me try and get it off. Bend down!"

"Ouch!" said Sam.

"It's coming. There! How helpless men are!"

"We need a woman's tender care," said Sam depositing the helmet on the
floor of the car and rubbing his smarting ears. "Billie!"

"Sam!"

"You angel!"

"You're rather a darling after all," said Billie. "But you want keeping
in order," she added severely.

"You will do that when we're married. When we're married!" he repeated
luxuriously. "How splendid it sounds!"

"The only trouble is," said Billie, "father won't hear of it."

"No, he won't. Not till it is all over," said Sam.

He started the car again.

"What are you going to do?" said Billie. "Where are you going?"

"To London," said Sam. "It may be news to you but the old lawyer like
myself knows that, by going to Doctors' Commons or the Court of Arches
or somewhere or by routing the Archbishop of Canterbury out of bed or
something, you can get a special licence and be married almost before
you know where you are. My scheme--roughly--is to dig this special
licence out of whoever keeps such things, have a bit of breakfast, and
then get married at our leisure before lunch at a registrar's."

"Oh, not a registrar's!" said Billie.

"No?"

"I should hate a registrar's."

"Very well, angel. Just as you say. We'll go to a church. There are
millions of churches in London. I've seen them all over the place." He
mused for a moment. "Yes, you're quite right," he said. "A church is the
thing. It'll please Webst