“Not by an hour,” Rokeby answered, consulting a wrist watch.  “Have you breakfasted?”

“Not yet.”

“You’d better, hadn’t you?”

Osborn was concerned with the set of the new coat over his fine shoulders.

“Breakfast was on the table when I came through,” added Rokeby.

“Was it?” replied Osborn absently.

Rokeby took his friend’s arm, piloted him with patient firmness into the sitting-room, and pulled out a chair.

Osborn ate and drank spasmodically.  Between the spasms he hummed under his breath: 

  “And—­when—­I—­tell—­them,
  And I’m certainly going to tell them,
  That I’m the man whose wife you’re one day going to be,
  They’ll never believe me—­”

Rokeby smoked several cigarettes.

“How long’ll it take us to get to the church?” Osborn asked presently, with his eye on the clock.

“Ten minutes, about.  We’ll walk.”

“Desmond, I say, I wouldn’t like to be late.”

“I’ll look after that.  I’ve escorted a good many fellows to the tumbril.”

“Desmond, that nonsense of yours gets boring.”

“All right!  Sorry.”

“Let’s start,” said Osborn.

So they started on their short walk.  The pale gold sun of a splendid crisp morning hailed them and the streets were bright.  Already, though they arrived early at the church, several pews were full of whispering guests who turned and looked and smiled, with nods that beckoned, at the two young men.

“What’ll we do?” Osborn whispered.

“Hide,” said Rokeby.

They hid in a cold, stony little place which Rokeby said was a vestry, and there they waited while interminable minutes drifted by.  Osborn fell into a dream from which he was only fully roused by finding himself paraded side by side at the chancel steps with a dazzling apparition, robed in white clouds, veiled and wreathed.  She carried a great bouquet.  He stole a look at her entrancing profile and thought that never had she looked so lovely.  She had a flush on her cheeks, her gay eyes were serious, and her little bare left hand, when, under whispered instructions, he took it, startled him by being tremulous and cold as ice.  He pressed it and felt tremendously protective.

An irrevocable Act had taken place without fuss or difficulty, or any abnormal signs and wonders; the gold circle was on Marie’s finger and they were married.  For a moment or two, while they knelt and a strange clergyman was addressing them, Osborn was surprised at the ease, the speed and simplicity with which two people gave each other their lives.  He did not know what else he had expected, but how simple it all was!  This was their day of days; their wedding.  He stole another look at Marie and found her rapt, calm.

He began to be annoyed with the presence of the clergyman, of Desmond, and Julia, who waited disapprovingly upon the bride, of Marie’s mother and the small horde of friends and relations; he began to think, “If only it was over and I had her to myself!  In another hour, surely, we’ll be away.”