Lane hesitated.  Yes, he now remembered that in the days before the war the young lawyer had been Mel’s persistent admirer.  But a reckless mood had begun to manifest itself in Lane during the last hour, and it must have communicated its spirit to Mel, for she made no further protest.  The world was against them.  They were driving to the home of the man she had refused to marry, who had eventually married a girl who had jilted Lane.  In an ordinary moment they would never have attempted such a thing.  The mansion before which the car stopped was well lighted; music and laughter came faintly through the bright windows.

A maid opened the door to Lane and showed him into a drawing-room.  In a library beyond he saw women and men playing cards, laughing and talking.  Several old ladies were sitting close together, whispering and nodding their heads.  A young fair-haired girl was playing the piano.  Lane saw the maid advance and speak to a sharp-featured man whom he recognized as Hartley.  Lane wanted to run out of the house.  But he clenched his teeth and swore he would go through with it.

“Mr. Hartley,” began Lane, as the magistrate came through the curtained doorway, “I hope you’ll pardon my intrusion.  My errand is important.  I’ve come to ask you to marry me to a lady who is waiting outside.”

When Hartley recognized his visitor he started back in astonishment.  Then he laughed and looked more closely at Lane.  It was a look that made Lane wince, for he understood it to relate to his mental condition.

“Lane!  Well, by Jove!” he exclaimed.  “Going to get married!  You honor me.  The regular fee, which in my official capacity I must charge, is one dollar.  If you can pay that I will marry you.”

“I can pay,” replied Lane, quietly, and his level steady gaze disconcerted Hartley.

“Where’s the woman?”

“She’s outside in a taxi.”

“Is she over eighteen?”

“Yes.”

Lane expected the question as to who the woman was.  It was singular that the magistrate neglected to ask this, the first query offered by every minister Lane has visited.

“Fetch her in,” he said.

Lane went outside and hesitated at the car door, for he had an intuitive flash which made him doubtful.  But what if Hartley did make a show of this marriage?  The marriage itself was the vital thing.  Lane helped Mel out of the car and led her up the icy steps.  The maid again opened the door.

“Mr. Lane, walk right in,” said Hartley.  “Of course, it’s natural for the lady to be a little shy, but then if she wants to be married at this hour she must not mind my family and guests.  They can be witnesses.”

He spoke in a voice in which Lane’s ears detected insincerity.  “Be seated, and wait until I get my book,” he continued, and left the room.