connection with him be cut off. Afterwards it was
probable that he would institute legal proceedings against them for
trespass and damage to property, and if they didn't all go to prison
they might consider themselves uncommonly lucky, and if they didn't
fly the spot within the brief space of two ticks he would get among
them with a shotgun. He was sick of them. They were no gentlemen, but
cads. Scoundrels. Creatures that it would be rank flattery to describe
as human beings. That's the sort of things _they_ were. And now they
might go--_quick_!

The meeting then dispersed, without the usual vote of thanks.

* * * * *

We were quiet at the farm that night. Ukridge sat like Marius among
the ruins of Carthage and refused to speak. Eventually he took Bob
with him and went for a walk.

Half an hour later I, too, wearied of the scene of desolation. My
errant steps took me in the direction of the sea. As I approached I
was aware of a figure standing in the moonlight, gazing moodily out
over the waters. Beside the figure was a dog.

I would not disturb his thoughts. The dark moments of massive minds
are sacred. I forebore to speak to him. As readily might one of the
generals of the Grand Army have opened conversation with Napoleon
during the retreat from Moscow.

I turned softly and walked the other way. When I looked back he was
still there.

[Illustration: "I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted when the
best man said, 'I can't find it, old horse!'"]

EPILOGUE

ARGUMENT. From the _Morning Post: "... and graceful, wore a simple
gown of stiff satin and old lace, and a heavy lace veil fell in soft
folds over the shimmering skirt. A reception was subsequently held by
Mrs. O'Brien, aunt of the bride, at her house in Ennismore Gardens."_

IN THE SERVANTS' HALL

THE COOK. ... And as pretty a wedding, Mr. Hill, as ever I did see.

THE BUTLER. Indeed, Mrs. Minchley? And how did our niece look?

THE COOK (_closing her eyes in silent rapture_). Well,
_there_! That lace! (_In a burst of ecstacy_.) Well, _there_!!
Words can't describe it, Mr. Hill.

THE BUTLER. Indeed, Mrs. Minchley?

THE COOK. And Miss Phyllis--Mrs. Garnet, I _should_ say--she was as
calm as calm. And looking beautiful as--well, there! Now, Mr. Garnet,
he _did_ look nervous, if you like, and when the best man--such a
queer-looking awkward man, in a frock coat that _I_ wouldn't have been
best man at a weddin