‘What a ripping old church!’ Jack whispered.

’You can’t buy ’em.  But it’s as festive as an ice-house.  There’s a friendly native coming down the aisle.  He’s your man, Hale, if you want the news.’

The verger was not in the best of tempers.  ’It’s at a quarter to four,’ said he, as Hale met him.

‘No, no, at eleven.’

‘Quarter to four, I tell you.  The vicar says so.’

‘Why, it’s not possible.’

‘We have them at all hours.’

‘Have what?’

‘Buryin’s.’

‘But this is a marriage.’

’I’m sure I beg your pardon, sir.  I thought when I looked at you as you was the party about the child’s funeral.’

‘Good heavens, no.’

’It was something in your expression, sir, but now that I can see the colour of your clothes, why of course I know better.  There’s three marriages—­which was it?’

‘Crosse and Selby are the names.’

The verger consulted an old crumpled notebook.

’Yes, sir, I have it here.  Mr. or Miss Crosse to Mr. or Miss Selby. 
Eleven o’clock, sir, sharp.  The vicar’s a terrible punctual man, and
I should advise you to take your places.’

‘Any hitch?’ asked Frank nervously, as Hale returned.

‘No, no.’

‘What was he talking about?’

‘Oh, nothing.  Some little confusion of ideas.’

‘Shall we go up?’

‘Yes, I think that we had better.’

Their steps clattered and reverberated through the empty church as they passed up the aisle.  They stood in an aimless way before the altar rails.  Frank fidgeted about, and made sure that the ring was in his ticket-pocket.  He also took a five-pound note and placed it where he knew he could lay his hands upon it easily.  Then he sprang round with a flush upon his cheeks, for one of the side-doors had been flung open with a great bustle and clanging.  A stout charwoman entered with a tin pail and a mop.

‘Put up the wrong bird that time,’ whispered Jack, and sniggered at Frank’s change of expression.

But almost at the same instant, the Selbys entered the church at the further end.  Mr. Selby, with his red face and fluffy side-whiskers, had Maude upon his arm.  She looked very pale and very sweet, with downcast eyes and solemn mouth, while behind her walked her younger sister Mary and her pretty friend Nelly Sheridan, both in pink dresses with broad pink hats and white curling feathers.  The bride was herself in the grey travelling-dress with which Frank was already familiar by its description in her letter.  Its gentle tint and her tenderly grave expression made a charming effect.  Behind them was the mother, still young and elegant, with something of Maude’s grace in her figure and carriage.  As the party came up the aisle, Frank was to be restrained no longer.  ‘Get to his head!’ cried Jack to Hale in an excited whisper, but their man