Olive Two did not convince Olive One of her innocence, because she did not bring forward the supreme proof of it.  She was too proud—­in her brooding and her mystery—­to do so.  The supreme proof was that at this time she herself was secretly engaged to be married to Edward Coe, who had conquered her heart with unimaginable swiftness a few weeks before she was about to sit for a musical examination at Manchester.  “Let us say nothing till after my exam,” she had suggested to her betrothed.  “There will be an enormous fuss, and it will put me off, and I shall fail, and I don’t want to fail, and you don’t want me to fail.”  He agreed rapturously.  Of course she did fail, nevertheless.  But being obstinate she said she would go in again, and they continued to make a secret of the engagement.  They found the secret delicious.  Then followed the devastating episode of Vaillac.  Shortly afterwards Olive One and Vaillac were married, and then Olive Two was alone in the nice house.  The examination was forgotten, and she hated the house.  She wanted to be married; Coe also.  But nothing had been said.  Difficult to announce her engagement just then!  The world would say that she had married out of imitation, and her sister would think that she had married out of pique.  Besides, there would be the fuss, which Olive Two hated.  Already the fuss of her sister’s marriage, and the effort at the wedding of pretending that nothing had happened between them, had fatigued the nerves of Olive Two.

Then Edward Coe had had the brilliant and seductive idea of marrying in secret.  To slip away, and then to return, saying, “We are married.  That’s all!” ...  Why not?  No fuss!  No ceremonial!  The accomplished fact, which simplifies everything!

It was, therefore, a secret honeymoon that Edward Coe was on; delightful—­but surreptitious, furtive!  His mental condition may be best described by stating that, though he was conscious of rectitude, he somehow could not look a policeman in the face.  After all, plain people do not usually run off on secret honeymoons.  Had he acted wisely?  Perhaps this question, presenting itself now and then, was the chief cause of his improper gloom.

II

However, the spectacle of Brighton on a fine Saturday afternoon in October had its effect on Edward Coe—­the effect which it has on everybody.  Little by little it inspired him with the joy of life, and straightened his back, and put a sparkle into his eyes.  And he was filled with the consciousness of the fact that it is a fine thing to be well-dressed and to have loose gold in your pocket, and to eat, drink, and smoke well; and to be among crowds of people who are well-dressed and have loose gold in their pockets, and eat and drink and smoke well; and to know that a magnificent woman will be waiting for you at a certain place at a certain hour, and that upon catching sight of you her dark orbs will take on an enchanting expression reserved for you alone, and that she is utterly yours.  In a word, he looked on the bright side of things again.  It could not ultimately matter a bilberry whether his marriage was public or private.