e's no fool like a woman in love," said the lawyer
to himself as he packed his bag of papers.

Isobel was quite right. The question of settlements never even occurred
to Godfrey. He was aware, however, that it is usual for a bridegroom to
make the bride a present, and going to London, walked miserably up and
down Bond Street looking into windows until he was tired. At one moment
he fixed his affections upon an old Queen Anne porringer, which his
natural taste told him to be quite beautiful; but having learned from
the dealer that it was meant for the mixing of infant's pap, he retired
abashed. Almost next door he saw in a jeweller's window a necklace of
small pearls priced at three hundred pounds, and probably worth about
half that amount. Having quite a handsome balance at his back, he came
to the conclusion that he could afford this and, going in, bought it at
once, oblivious of the fact that Isobel already had ropes of pearls the
size of marrowfat peas. However, she was delighted with it, especially
when she saw what it had cost him, for he had never thought to cut the
sale ticket from the necklace. It was those pearls, and not the
marrowfat peas, that Isobel wore upon her wedding day. Save for the
little ring with the two turquoise hearts, these were her only ornament.

A question arose as to where the honeymoon, or so much as would remain
of one, was to be spent. Godfrey would have liked to go to Lucerne and
visit the Pasteur, but as this could not be managed in war time,
suggested London.

"Why London?" exclaimed Isobel.

"Only because most ladies like theatres, though I confess I hate them
myself."

"You silly man," she answered. "Do you suppose, when we can have only a
few days together, that I want to waste time in theatres?"

In the end it was settled that they would go to London for a night, and
then on to Cornwall, which they hoped fondly might be warm at that time
of year.

So at last, on the twenty-fourth day of December of that fateful year
1914, they were married in the Abbey Church. Isobel's uncle, the one
with whom she had stayed in Mexico, and who had retired now from the
Diplomatic Service, gave her away, and a young cousin of hers was the
sole bridesmaid, for the ceremony was of the sort called a "war
wedding." Her dress, however, was splendid of its kind, some rich thing
of flowing broidered silk with a veil of wondrous lace.

Either from accident or by design, in general effect it muc