Presently the conductor came in.  Pausing in front of the groom he said, “Tickets, please”; then:  “You’re on the wrong train!” “Wrong train?  Of course I’m not on the wrong train!  You must be mistaken!  The ticket agent told me to take this train.”

“Can’t help that, sir, this train don’t go to Lawrence.”

“It’s very curious.  I asked the brakeman, and two porters.  Ain’t this the 3.05?”

“This is the 3.05.”

“Where does it go, then?”

“Goes to Lowell.  Lowell the first stop.”

“But I don’t want to go to Lowell!”

“What’s the matter with Lowell?  It’s a good place all right!”

“But I have an appointment in Lawrence at four o’clock.”

“I’m dretful sorry, but you’ll have to keep it in Lowell, I guess!—­Tickets, please!” this to a pretty girl on the opposite side from Gilbert, a pink and white, unsophisticated maiden, very much interested in the woes of the bride and groom and entirely sympathetic with the groom’s helpless wrath.

“On the wrong train, Miss!” said the conductor.

“On the wrong train?” She spoke in a tone of anguish, getting up and catching her valise frantically.  “It can’t be the wrong train!  Isn’t it the White Mountain train?”

“Yes, Miss, but it don’t go to North Conway; it goes to Fabyan’s.”

“But my father put me on this train and everybody said it was the White Mountain train!”

“So it is, Miss, but if you wanted to stop at North Conway you’d ought to have taken the 3.55, platform 8.”

“Put me off, then, please, and let me wait for the 3.55.”

“Can’t do it, Miss; this is an express train; only stops at Lowell, where this gentleman is going!”

(Here the conductor gave a sportive wink at the bridegroom who had an appointment in Lawrence.)

The pretty girl burst into a flood of tears and turned her face despairingly to the window, while the bride talked to the groom excitedly about what they ought to have done and what they would have done had she been consulted.

Gilbert could hardly conceal his enjoyment of the situation, and indeed everybody within hearing—­that is, anybody who chanced to be on the right train—­looked at the bride and groom and the pretty girl, and tittered audibly.

“Why don’t people make inquiries?” thought Gilbert superciliously.  “Perhaps they have never been anywhere before, but even that’s no excuse.”

He handed his ticket to the conductor with a broad smile, saying in an undertone, “What kind of passengers are we carrying this afternoon?”

“The usual kind, I guess!—­You’re on the wrong train, sonny!”

Gilbert almost leaped into the air, and committed himself by making a motion to reach down his valise.

“I, on the wrong train?” he asked haughtily.  “That can’t be so; the ticket agent told me the 3.05 was the only fast train to Greentown!”