'My dear good man,' said Mr Bethany, 'of course we haven't. You
shall tell her yourself on Monday. What an incredible tradition
it will be! But you mustn't worry; you mustn't even think. And no
more of these jaunts, eh? That Ferguson business--that was too
bad. What are we going to do with the fellow now we have created
him? He will come home to roost--mark my words. And as likely as
not down the Vicarage chimney. I wouldn't have believed it of
you, my dear fellow.' He beamed, but looked, none the less, very
lean and fagged and depressed.

'How did the wedding go off?' Lawford managed to think of
inquiring.

'Oh, A1,' said Mr Bethany. 'I've just been describing it to
Alice--the bride, her bridegroom, mother, aunts, cake, presents,
finery, blushes, tears, and everything that was hers. We've been
in fits, haven't we, Mrs Lawford? And Alice says I'm a Worth in a
clerical collar--didn't she? And that it's only Art that has kept
me out of an apron. Now look here; quiet, quiet, quiet; no
excitement, no pranks. What is there to worry about, pray? And
now Little Dorrit's down with influenza too. And Craik and I will
have double work to do. Well, well; good-bye, my dear. God bless
you, Lawford. I can't tell you how relieved, how unspeakably
relieved I am to find you so much--so much better. Feed him up,
my other dear; body and mind and soul and spirit. And there goes
the bell. I must have a biscuit. I've swallowed nothing but a
Cupid in plaster of Paris since breakfast. Goodnight; we shall
miss you both--both.'

But when Sheila returned, her husband was sunk again into a quiet