The marriage was to be at eleven o'clock at St. Monica's Church, and
the Selbys were putting up at the Langham. Frank stayed at the
Metropole, and so did Rupton Hale. They were up early, their heads
and nerves none the better for Jack Selby's hospitality of the night
before.

Frank could eat no breakfast, and he shunned publicity in his
wedding-garments, so they remained in the upstairs sitting-room. He
stood by the window, drumming his fingers upon the pane, and looking
down into Northumberland Avenue. He had often pictured this day, and
associated it with sunshine and flowers and every emblem of joy. But
Nature had not risen to the occasion. A thick vapour, half smoke
half cloud, drifted along the street, and a thin persistent rain was
falling steadily. It pit-patted upon the windows, splashed upon the
sills, and gurgled in the water-pipes. Far down beneath him on the
drab-coloured slimy road stood the lines of wet cabs, looking like
beetles with glistening backs. Round black umbrellas hurried along
the shining pavements. A horse had fallen at the door of the
Constitutional Club, and an oil-skinned policeman was helping the
cabman to raise it. Frank watched it until the harness had been
refastened, and it had vanished into Trafalgar Square. Then he
turned and examined himself in the mirror. His trim black frock-coat
and pearl grey trousers set off his alert athletic figure to
advantage. His glossy hat, too, his lavender gloves, and dark-blue
tie, were all absolutely irreproachable. And yet he was not
satisfied with himself. Maude ought to have something better than
that. What a fool he had been to take so much wine last night! On
this day of all days in their lives she surely had a right to find
him at his best. He was restless, and his nerves were all quivering.
He would have given anything for a cigarette, but he did not wish to