If I'd known of it I should
have altered that, I can tell you, and pretty quickly too; and now it's
too late."
"No, it isn't," Denry contradicted her flatly.
"But they've gone."
"I could telegraph to Liverpool for saloon berths--there's bound to be
plenty at this time of year--and I could run over to Liverpool to-morrow
and catch 'em on the boat, and make 'em change."
She asked him whether he really thought he could, and he assured her.
"Second-cabin berths would be better," said she.
"Why?"
"Well, because of dressing for dinner, and so on. They haven't got the
clothes, you know."
"Of course," said Denry.
"Listen," she said, with an enchanting smile. "Let's halve the cost, you
and I. And let's go to Liverpool together, and--er--make the little
gift, and arrange things. I'm leaving for Southport to-morrow, and
Liverpool's on my way."
Denry was delighted by the suggestion, and telegraphed to Liverpool with
success.
Thus they found themselves on that morning in the Liverpool express
together. The work of benevolence in which they were engaged had a
powerful influence on their mood, which grew both intimate and tender.
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