As she spoke those words, Lady Winwood read the telegram.  It ran thus: 

“Sir Joseph Graybrooke, Muswell Hill.  To Miss Natalie Graybrooke; Berkeley Square.  Come back immediately.  You are engaged to dine here with Richard Turlington.”

Lady Winwood folded up the telegram with a malicious smile.  “Well done, Sir Joseph!” thought her ladyship.  “We might never have persuaded Natalie—­but for You!”

SIXTH SCENE.

The Church.

The time is morning; the date is early in the month of November.  The place is a church, in a poor and populous parish in the undiscovered regions of London, eastward of the Tower, and hard by the river-side.

A marriage procession of five approaches the altar The bridegroom is pale, and the bride is frightened.  The bride’s friend (a resolute-looking little lady) encourages her in whispers.  The two respectable persons, apparently man and wife, who complete the procession, seem to be not quite clear as to the position which they occupy at the ceremony.  The beadle, as he marshals them before the altar, sees something under the surface in this wedding-party.  Marriages in the lower ranks of life are the only marriages celebrated here.  Is this a runaway match?  The beadle anticipates something out of the common in the shape of a fee.

The clergyman (the junior curate) appears from the vestry in his robes.  The clerk takes his place.  The clergyman’s eye rests with a sudden interest and curiosity on the bride and bridegroom, and on the bride’s friend; notices the absence of elderly relatives; remarks, in the two ladies especially, evidences of refinement and breeding entirely unparalleled in his professional experience of brides and brides’ friends standing before the altar of that church; questions, silently and quickly, the eye of the clerk, occupied also in observing the strangers with interest “Jenkinson” (the clergyman’s look asks), “is this all right?” “Sir” (the clerk’s look answers), “a marriage by banns; all the formalities have been observed.”  The clergyman opens his book.  The formalities have been observed; his duty lies plainly before him.  Attention, Launcelot!  Courage, Natalie!  The service begins.

Launce casts a last furtive look round the church.  Will Sir Joseph Graybrooke start up and stop it from one of the empty pews?  Is Richard Turlington lurking in the organ-loft, and only waiting till the words of the service appeal to him to prohibit the marriage, or “else hereafter forever to hold his peace?” No.  The clergyman proceeds steadily, and nothing happens.  Natalie’s charming face grows paler and paler, Natalie’s heart throbs faster and faster, as the time comes nearer for reading the words which unite them for life.  Lady Winwood herself feels an unaccustomed fluttering in the region of the bosom.  Her ladyship’s thoughts revert, not altogether pleasantly, to her own marriage:  “Ah me! what was I thinking of when I was in this position?  Of the bride’s beautiful dress, and of Lady Winwood’s coming presentation at court!”