_Bel._ It was a mere artifice to enable her to escape from McGillicuddy.
_Bel._ It’s monstrous--perfectly monstrous--that that should constitute a marriage. It’s disgraceful--it’s abominable. Damme, Cheviot, it’s immoral.
_Ch._ So it is--it’s immoral. That settles it in _my_ mind. It’s immoral.
_Bel._ You’re quite sure you’ll be resolute, Cheviot?
_Ch._ Resolute? I should think so! Why, hang it all, man, I’m going to be married in twenty minutes to Minnie Symperson!
_Ch._ (_confused at having let this out_). Didn’t I tell you? I believe you’re right; I did _not_ tell you. It escaped me. Oh, yes, this is my wedding-day.
_Bel._ Cheviot, you’re joking--you don’t mean this! Why, I shall lose £1000 a year by it, every penny I have in the world! Oh, it can’t be--it’s nonsense!
_Ch._ What do you mean by nonsense? The married state is an honourable estate, I believe? A man is not looked upon as utterly lost to all sense of decency because he’s got married, I’m given to understand! People have been married before this, and have not been irretrievably tabooed in consequence, unless I’m grossly misinformed? Then what the dickens do you mean by saying “nonsense” when I tell you that I’m going to be married?
_Bel._ Cheviot, be careful how you take this step. Beware how you involve an innocent and helpless girl in social destruction.
_Bel._ You cannot marry; you are a married man.
_Ch._ Come, come, Belvawney, this is trifling.
_Bel._ You are married to Miss Treherne. I was present, and can depose to the fact.
_Ch._ But, as you very properly said just now, it was a mere artifice--we didn’t mean anything. It would be monstrous to regard that as a marriage. Damme, Belvawney, it would be immoral!
_Bel._ I may deplore the state of the law, but I cannot stand tamely by and see it deliberately violated before my eyes.
_Ch._ (_wildly_). But, Belvawney, my dear friend, reflect; everything is prepared for my marriage, at a great expense. I love Minnie deeply, devotedly. She is the actual tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing. There’s no mistake about it. She is my own To Come. I love her madly--rapturously. (_Going on his knees to BELVAWNEY._) I have prepared a wedding breakfast at a great expense to do her honour. I have ordered four flys for the wedding party. I have taken two second-class Cook’s tourists’ tickets for Ilfracombe, Devon, Exeter, Cornwall, Westward Ho! and Bideford Bay. The whole thing has cost me some twenty or twenty-five pounds, and all this will be wasted--utterly wasted--if you interfere. Oh, Belvawney, dear Belvawney, let the recollection of our long and dear friendship operate to prevent your shipwrecking my future life. (_Sobbing hysterically._)