Come along; we'll get the licence."
"But the delay?"
"Exactly half an hour. Come!"
The lawyer dashed out of his office. "At home in an hour," he shouted
to the clerk, and then ran downstairs, followed closely by Valentine,
and did not cease running until he was in the King's Road, where the
cab was waiting.
"Newgate Street and Warwick Lane to Doctors' Commons!" he cried to the
cabman; and Valentine was fain to take his seat in the cab without
further remonstrance.
"I don't understand--" he began, as the cabman drove away.
"I do. It's all right; you'll put the licence in your pocket, and call at
the church nearest which you hang out, Edgware Road way, give notice of
the marriage, and so on; and as soon as Charlotte can bear the journey,
bring her to London and marry her. I told you your course six months ago.
Your obstinacy has caused the hazard of that young woman's life. Don't
let us have a second edition of it."
"I will be governed by your advice," answered Valentine, submissively.
"It is the delay that tortures me."
The delay was indeed torture to him. Everything and everybody in Doctors'
Commons seemed the very incarnation of slowness. The hansom cab might
tear and grind the pavement, the hansom cabman might swear until even
monster waggons swerved aside to give him passage; but neither tearing
nor swearing could move the incarnate stolidity of Doctors' Commons.
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