‘Well, good-bye, Bobbie; I rely on you.’
Bobbie Ferrar grinned faintly, and held out his hand.
‘Good-bye,’ he said, through his teeth.
Sir Lawrence went westward to the Coffee House where the porter handed him a telegram: ‘Am marrying Jean Tasburgh two o’clock today St Augustine’s-in-the-Meads delighted to see you and Aunt Em Hubert.’
Passing into the coffee-room, Sir Lawrence said to the Chief Steward: ‘Butts, I am about to see a nephew turned off. Fortify me quickly.’
Twenty minutes later he was on his way to St Augustine’s, in a cab. He arrived a few minutes before two o’clock and met Dinny going up the steps.
‘You look pale and interesting, Dinny.’
‘I am pale and interesting, Uncle Lawrence.’
‘This proceeding appears to be somewhat sudden.’
‘That’s Jean. I’m feeling terribly responsible. I found her for him, you see.’
They entered the church and moved up to the front pews. Apart from the General, Lady Cherrell, Mrs Hilary and Hubert there was no one except two sightseers and a verger. Someone’s fingers were wandering on the organ. Sir Lawrence and Dinny took a pew to themselves.
‘I’m not sorry Em isn’t here,’ he whispered; ‘she still gives way. When you marry, Dinny, have “No tears by request” on your invitation cards. What is it produces moisture at weddings? Even bailiffs weep.’
‘It’s the veil,’ said Dinny; ‘nobody will cry today because there is none. Look! Fleur and Michael!’
Sir Lawrence turned his monocle on them as they came up the aisle.
‘Eight years since we saw them married. Take it all round, they haven’t done so badly.’
‘No,’ whispered Dinny; ‘Fleur told me yesterday that Michael was pure gold.’
‘Did she? That’s good. There have been times, Dinny, when I’ve had my doubts.’
‘Not about Michael.’
‘No, no; he’s a first-rate fellow. But Fleur has fluttered their dovecote once or twice; since her father’s death, however, she’s been exemplary. Here they come!’
The organ had broken into annunciation. Alan Tasburgh with Jean on his arm was coming up the aisle. Dinny admired his square and steady look. As for Jean, she seemed the very image of colour and vitality. Hubert, standing, hands behind him, as if at ease, turned as she came up, and Dinny saw his face, lined and dark, brighten as if the sun had shone on it. A choky feeling gripped her throat. Then she saw that Hilary in his surplice had come quietly and was standing on the step.
‘I do like Uncle Hilary,’ she thought.
Hilary had begun to speak.
Contrary to her habit in church, Dinny listened. She waited for the word ‘obey’ – it did not come; she waited for the sexual allusions–they were omitted. NowHilary was asking for the ring. Now it was on. Now he was praying. Now it was the Lord’s Prayer, and they were going to the vestry. How strangely short!
She rose from her knees.
‘Amazingly complete,’ whispered Sir Lawrence, ‘as Bobbie Ferrar would say. Where are they going after?’
‘To the theatre. Jean wants to stay in Town. She’s found a workman’s flat.’
‘Calm before the storm. I wish that affair of Hubert’s were over, Dinny.’
They were coming back from the vestry now, and the organ had begun to play the Mendelssohn march. Looking at those two passing down the aisle Dinny had feelings of elation and of loss, of jealousy and of satisfaction. Then, seeing that Alan looked as if he, too, had feelings, she moved out of her pew to join Fleur and Michael; but, catching sight of Adrian near the entrance, went to him instead.
‘What news, Dinny?’
‘All right so far, Uncle. I am going straight back now.’
With the popular instinct for experiencing emotion at secondhand a little crowd of Hilary’s parishioners had gathered outside, and a squeaky cheer rose from them as Jean and Hubert got into the brown roadster, and drove away.
‘Come in this cab with me, Uncle,’ said Dinny.
‘Does Ferse seem to mind your being there?’ asked Adrian, in the cab.
‘He’s quite polite, just silent; his eyes are always on Diana. I’m terribly sorry for him.’
Adrian nodded. ‘And she?’
‘Wonderful; as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He won’t go out, though; just stays in the dining-room – watches from there all the time.’
‘The world must seem to him a conspiracy. If he remains sane long enough he’ll lose that feeling.’
‘Need he ever become insane again? Surely there are cases of complete recovery?’
‘So far as I can gather, my dear, his case is not likely to be one of them. Heredity is against him, and temperament.’