“Well, by ——!  I wish you had it,” said Wickersham, angrily.

Wickersham had been thinking hard during Plume’s statement of the case, and what with his argument and an occasional application to the decanter of whiskey, he was beginning to yield.  Just then a sealed note was handed him by a waiter.  He tore it open and read: 

“I am going home; my heart is broken.  Good-by.”

“PHRONY.”

With an oath under his breath, he wrote in pencil on a card:  “Wait; I will be with you directly.”

“Take that to the lady,” he said.  Scribbling a few lines more on another card, he gave Plume some hasty directions and left him.

When, five minutes afterwards, Mr. Plume finished the decanter, and left the hotel, his face had a crafty look on it.  “This should be worth a good deal to you, J. Quincy,” he said.

An hour later the Rev. Mr. Rimmon performed in his private office a little ceremony, at which, besides himself, were present only the bride and groom and a witness who had come to him a half-hour before with a scribbled line in pencil requesting his services.  If Mr. Rimmon was startled when he first read the request, the surprise had passed away.  The groom, it is true, was, when he appeared, decidedly under the influence of liquor, and his insistence that the ceremony was to be kept entirely secret had somewhat disturbed Mr. Rimmon for a moment.  But he remembered Mr. Plume’s assurance that the bride was a great heiress in the South, and knowing that Ferdy Wickersham was a man who rarely lost his head,—­a circumstance which the latter testified by handing him a roll of greenbacks amounting to exactly one hundred dollars,—­and the bride being very pretty and shy, and manifestly most eager to be married, he gave his word to keep the matter a secret until they should authorize him to divulge it.

When the ceremony was over, the bride requested Mr. Rimmon to give her her “marriage lines.”  This Mr. Rimmon promised to do; but as he would have to fill out the blanks, which would take a little time, the bride and groom, having signed the paper, took their departure without waiting for the certificate, leaving Mr. Plume to bring it.

A day or two later a steamship of one of the less popular companies sailing to a Continental port had among its passengers a gentleman and a lady who, having secured their accommodations at the last moment, did not appear on the passenger list.

It happened that they were unknown to any of the other passengers, and as they were very exclusive, they made no acquaintances during the voyage.  If Mrs. Wagram, the name by which the lady was known on board, had one regret, it was that Mr. Plume had failed to send her her marriage certificate, as he had promised to do.  Her husband, however, made so light of it that it reassured her, and she was too much taken up with her wedding-ring and new diamonds to think that anything else was necessary.