Brock pulled himself together.  Very sternly he said:  “This young lady is to be my wife.”

“Ach,” said Gretchen, with a friendly smile and the utmost deference, “that is what they all say, mein Herr.”  Then, giggling approvingly, she bustled away.

Brock waited until she was out of sight.  “She seems to be onto us, as Freddie would say.  But what do we care?  I’d like to stand on top of the Bandjoch and shout the news to the world.  Wouldn’t you, dearest?”

“The world wouldn’t hear us, dear,” she said coolly.  “Besides, it’s raining up there.  Just look at it sweeping down upon us!  Goodness!”

He laughed hilariously, amused by her attempt to be casual and indifferent.  “You can’t turn it off so easily as that, dearest,” he cried.  “Come!  While it rains we may plan.  You will marry me—­to-morrow?”

“No!” she cried, aghast.  “How utterly ridiculous!”

“Well, then, day after to-morrow?”

“No, no—­nor week after next.  I—­”

“See here, Connie, we’ve got some one else to consider as well as ourselves.  In order to square it all up for Edith, we must be able to say to these people that we haven’t been frivolling—­that we are going to be married at once.  That will let Edith out of the difficulty, and everything will look rosy at the outset.  If we put it off, the world will have said things in its ignorance that she can never refute, simply because the world doesn’t stop long enough to hear two sides of a story unless they are given pretty closely together.  Now Edith is counting on us to put the peeping-Tom Rodneys and the charitable Carneys to rout with our own little bombshell.  They’re saying nasty things about all of us.  They’re calling you a vile thing for stealing your sister’s husband, and they’re calling me a dog for what I’m doing.  No telling what they’ll be saying if we don’t step into the breach as soon as it is opened.  We can’t afford to wait, no matter what Roxbury says when he comes.  We’ve just got to be able to forestall even dear old Roxbury.  Come!  Don’t you see?  We must be married at once.”

[Illustration:  “‘I do love you,’ she said simply.”]

“Dear me,” she murmured softly, “what will papa say?”

“My dear Constance, I will explain it all to your father when he gets back from South America next winter.”

It was now raining in torrents.  They moved back into the darkest recess of their shelter, and blissfully looked out upon the drenched universe with eyes that saw nothing but sweet sunshine and fair weather.

The clattering of horses’ hoofs upon the hard mountain road sounded suddenly above the hiss of the rain-storm.  It was quite dark by this time, night having been hurried on by the lowering skies.  A moment later, three horsemen, drenched to the skin, drew up in front of the inn, threw their reins over the posts, and dashed for shelter.  They came noisily into the arbour, growling and stamping their soggy feet.