CHAPTER IV


On the wedding eve Betty brought the happy young man to dine with
me. He was in that state of unaccustomed and somewhat embarrassed
bliss in which a man would have dined happily with Beelzebub. A
fresh-coloured boy, with fair crisply set hair and a little
moustache a shade or two fairer, he kept on blushing radiantly, as
if apologising in a gallant sort of fashion for his existence in
the sphere of Betty's affection. As I had known him but casually
and desired to make his closer acquaintance, I had asked no one to
meet them, save Betty's aunt, whom a providential cold had
prevented from facing the night air. So, in the comfortable little
oak-panelled dining-room, hung round with my beloved collection of
Delft, I had the pair all to myself, one on each side; and in this
way I was able to read exchanges of glances whence I might form
sage conclusions. Bella, spruce parlour-maid, waited deftly.
Sergeant Marigold, when not occupied in the mild labour of filling
glasses, stood like a guardian ramrod behind my chair--a self-
assigned post to which he stuck grimly like a sentinel. As I
always sat with my back to the fire there must have been times
when, the blaze roaring more fiercely than usual up the chimney,
he must have suffered martyrdom in his hinder parts.

As I talked--for the first time on such intimate footing--with
young Connor, I revised my opinion of him and mentally took back
much that I had said in his disparagement. He was by no means the