(_A STORY OF WHAT MAY HAPPEN SOME DAY IN GEORGE STREET, HANOVER
SQUARE._)

There were a few minutes unoccupied before the time appointed for the
ceremony, and so the Pew-opener thought he could not do better than
point out the many excellences of the church to the Bridegroom.

"You see, Sir," he said, "our pulpit is occupied by the best possible
talent. The Vicar takes the greatest interest in securing every rising
preacher, and thus, Sunday after Sunday, we have the most startling
orations."

The Bridegroom (slightly bored) said that if he had happened to live
in the neighbourhood, he should certainly have taken sittings.

"But living in the neighbourhood is not necessary, Sir," persisted the
Pew-opener. "Let into the sounding-board is a telephone, and so our
Vicar can supply the sermons preached here, hot and hot, to residents
in the London Postal District. Considering the quality of the
discourses, he charges a very low rate. The system has been largely
adopted. As a matter of fact the whole service, and not only the
pulpit, has been laid on to the principal Hotels and Clubs."

But further conversation was here cut short by the arrival of the
Bride, who, led by her brother, advanced towards the altar with an air
of confidence that charmed all beholders. This self-possession was
the outcome of the lady being--as her grey moiré-antique indicated--a
widow. Congratulations passed round amongst the friends and relatives,
and then the bridal party was arranged in front of the good old Vicar.