Sir John Kynaston fell back a step or two and turned very white.

"How do you do?" said Vera, quietly, and put out her hand.

They stood in the open air. There was a carriage passing, some idle
cabmen on the stand with nothing to do but to stare at them, a gaping
nursery-maid and her charges at the gate. Whatever people may feel on
suddenly running against each other after a deadly quarrel, or a
heart-rending separation, or after a long interval of heart-burnings and
misunderstandings, there are always the externals of life to be observed.
It is difficult to rush into the tragedy of one's existence at a gulp; it
is safer to shake hands and say, "How do you do?"

That is what Vera felt, and that was what these two people did. Sir John
took her proffered hand, and responded to her stereotyped greeting. By
the time he had done so he had recovered his presence of mind.

"What an odd thing to meet you at the door of this church," he said,
rather nervously. "Do you know that my brother was married here this
morning?"

"Yes; I was in the church."

"Were you? How glad I am I did not know it," almost involuntarily.

There was a little pause; then Vera asked him if he was going to Walpole
Lodge.

"Eventually; but I have come back here to look for something. My brother