reatened to hand me over to the
police (and I'd like to see one of them try it on with me). You said I
was mad or drunk; and finally you tried to run away. Then you rejected
my advice, and plunged head-foremost into this fix. Now, in view of
all this, my position is this--that I can't trust you. I've got Min
now, and I mean to keep her. If you got hold of her again, I feel it
would be the last of her. Consequently I ain't going to let her go.
Not me. Not by a long chalk.

"Finally, ma'am, if you'll allow me, I'll touch upon another point.
I've thought over your objections to me. It ain't my rank--I'm a
noble; it ain't money--I'm worth a hundred thousand dollars; it ain't
my name--for I call myself Atramonte. It must be something in me. I've
come to the conclusion that it's my general style--my manners and
customs. Very well. Perhaps they don't come up to your standard. They
mayn't square with your ideas. Yet, let me inform you, ma'am, there
are other standards of action and manner and speech than those to
which you are accustomed, and mine is one of them. Minnie doesn't
object to that. She knows my heart is all right, and is willing to
trust herself to me. Consequently I take her, and I mean to make her
mine this day."

As the Baron paused Mrs. Willoughby began, first of all, to express
her gratitude, and then to beg him to postpone the marriage. She
declared that it was an unheard-of thing, that it was shameful, that
it was shocking, that it was dreadful. She grew very much excited; she
protested, she entreated. Finally she burst into tears, and appealed
to Lord Hawbury in the most moving terms. Hawbury listened very
gravely, with his eyes wandering over to where Ethel was; and Ethel
caught the expression of his face, and looked quite confused.

"Oh, think, only think," said Mrs. Willoughby, after an eloquent and
pathetic appeal--"think how the poor child will be talked about!"

"Well, really--ah--'pon my life," said Hawbury, with his eyes still
wandering over toward Ethel, "I'm sure I don't--ah--share your views
altogether, Mrs. Willoughby; for--ah--there _are_ times, you know,
when a fellow finds it very uncommonly desirable--runaway matches, you
know, and all that sort of thing. And, by Jove! to tell the truth, I
really admire the idea, by Jove! And really--ah--I'm sure--I wish most
confoundedly it was the universal fashion, by Jove!"

"But she'll be so talked about. She'll make herself so shockingly
_conspicu