ntively, "but I should _so_ much
prefer to be done in church. If mamma would only consent!"

"She never would," I declared, for I felt that I must see Isabel Mrs.
Dod within the next day or two at all costs.

"A registry office sounds so uninteresting. I suppose one just goes--as
one is."

"I don't think veils and trains are worn," I observed, "except by
persons of high rank who do not approve of the marriage service. I don't
know what the Marquis of Queensberry might do, or Mr. Grant Allen."

"Of course, the ceremony doesn't matter to _them_," replied Isabel
intelligently, "because they would just wear morning dress _anywhere_."

"Looking at it that way, they haven't much to lose," I conceded.

"And no wedding cake," grieved Isabel, "and no reception at the house of
the bride's mother. And you can't have your picture in the _Queen_."

"There would be a difficulty," I said, "about the descriptive part."

"And no favours for the coachman, and no trousseau----"

"I wonder," I said, "whether, under those circumstances, it's really
worth while."

"Oh, well!" said Isabel.

"It's a night to Paris, and a morning to Dover," I said. "We will wait
for the others at Dover--I fancy they'll hurry--that'll be another day.
I'll take one _robe de nuit_, Isabel, three pocket handkerchiefs, one
brush and comb, and tooth brush. You shall have all the rest of the
bag."

"You are a perfect love," exclaimed Miss Portheris, with the most
touching gratitude.

"We will share the soap," I continued, "until you are married.
Afterwards----"

"Oh, you can have it then," said Isabel, "of course," and she looked at
the Castle of Rheinfels and blushed beautifully.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"There was only one thing that disappointed me," Mrs. Malt was saying at
the dinner table of the Cologne hotel, "and that wasn't so much what you
would call a disappointment as a surprise. White windows-blinds in a
robber castle on the Rhine I did not expect to see."

I slipped away before momma had time to announce and explain her
disappointments, but I heard her begin. Then I felt safe, for criticism
of the Rhine is absorbing matter for conversation. The steamer's custom
of giving one stewed plums with chicken is an affront to civilisation to
last a good twenty minutes by myself. I tried to occupy and calm
Isabel's mind with it as we walked over to the station, under the twin
towers of the Cathedral, but with indifferent success. To add to her