In less than a quarter of an hour Elfride emerged from the door in her walking dress, and went to the railway. She had not told Mrs. Buckle anything as to her intentions, and was supposed to have gone out shopping.
An hour and forty minutes later, and she was in Stephen's arms at the Plymouth station. Not upon the platform--in the secret retreat of a deserted waiting-room.
Stephen's face boded ill. He was pale and despondent.
'What is the matter?' she asked.
'We cannot be married here to-day, my Elfie! I ought to have known it and stayed here. In my ignorance I did not. I have the licence, but it can only be used in my parish in London. I only came down last night, as you know.'
'What shall we do?' she said blankly.
'There's only one thing we can do, darling.'
'What's that?'
'Go on to London by a train just starting, and be married there to-morrow.'
'Passengers for the 11.5 up-train take their seats!' said a guard's voice on the platform.
'Will you go, Elfride?'
'I will.'
In three minutes the train had moved off, bearing away with it Stephen and Elfride.