Sherston was not looking forward to the actual ceremony--no man ever
does; and though it was to be a war wedding, a great many people,
as he was ruefully aware, had been bidden to the ceremony. But
it was comfortable to know that none of the guests had been asked
to go back to the house from which he and his bride were to start
for Sussex at one o'clock, in the motor which was Mrs. Pomeroy's
marriage gift to her daughter.

Suddenly Sherston discovered the he was very hungry! He had lunched
at Cadogan Square at a quarter to two, but he had felt too inwardly
excited in that queer atmosphere of tears and laughter, of trousseau
and wedding presents, to eat.

Even the least earthly of Romantics cannot forget for long the
claims of the flesh, and so, smiling a little wryly in the darkness,
he now told himself that the best thing he could do was to go out
and get some supper. Acquainted with all the eating houses in the
region, he was glad indeed that after to-night he would never have
to enter one again.

Pulling down the green blind in front of him, Sherston walked
across the room and pulled down the blind of the other window, for
the London lighting orders had become much stricter of late. Then
he turned on the electric light switch, took up his hat and stick,
and went out into the little lobby.

Before him was a narrow aperture which opened straight on to the
steep, short flight of steps connecting his chambers with the stone
staircase of the big old house. This latter-like set of steps had