He swore she should have her way.

“Then we’ll be out of this town on the three o’clock train this afternoon,” she said.  She went on with her plans, while he, growing more accustomed to his privilege, caressed her as he would.  “You shall have your way,” she said, “in everything except the wedding-journey.  That’s got to be a long one—­I won’t come back here till people have forgotten all about this Corliss mix-up.  I’ve never been abroad, and I want you to take me.  We can stay a long, long time.  I’ve brought nothing—­we’ll get whatever we want in New York before we sail.”

He agreed to everything.  He had never really hoped to win her; paradise had opened, dazing him with glory:  he was astounded, mad with joy, and abjectly his lady’s servant.

“Hadn’t you better run along and get the license?” she laughed.  “We’ll have to be married on the way to the train.”  “Cora!” he gasped.  “You angel!”

“I’ll wait here for you,” she smiled.  “There won’t be too much time.”

He obtained a moderate control of his voice and feet.  “Enfield—­that’s my cashier—­he’ll be back from his lunch at one-thirty.  Tell him about us, if I’m not here by then.  Tell him he’s got to manage somehow.  Good-bye till I come back Mrs. Trumble!”

At the door he turned.  “Oh, have you—­you——­” He paused uncertainly.  “Have you sent Richard Lindley any word about——­”

“Wade!” She gave his inquiry an indulgent amusement.  “If I’m not worrying about him, do you think you need to?”

“I meant about——­”

“You funny thing,” she said.  “I never had any idea of really marrying him; it wasn’t anything but one of those silly half-engagements, and——­”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, apologetically.  “I meant about letting him know what this Pryor told you about Corliss, so that Richard might do something toward getting his money back.  We ought to—­”

“Oh, yes,” she said quickly.  “Yes, that’s all right.”

“You saw Richard?”

“No.  I sent him a note.  He knows all about it by this time, if he has been home this morning.  You’d better start, Wade.  Send a messenger to our house for my bag.  Tell him to bring it here and then take a note for me.  You’d really better start—­dear!”

“Cora!” he shouted, took her in his arms, and was gone.  His departing gait down the corridor to the elevator seemed, from the sounds, to be a gallop.

Left alone, Cora wrote, sealed, and directed a note to Laura.  In it she recounted what Pryor had told her of Corliss; begged Laura and her parents not to think her heartless in not preparing them for this abrupt marriage.  She was in such a state of nervousness, she wrote, that explanations would have caused a breakdown.  The marriage was a sensible one; she had long contemplated it as a possibility; and, after thinking it over thoroughly, she had decided it was the only thing to do.  She sent her undying love.