meet him and a young woman in Redwater
church, the very morning after his return: there was no use in delay,
except to melt down the first money he had hoarded; and Will and
Dulcie were like two children, eager to have the business over and
done with, and not to do again by the same parties. The Vicar was
quite accustomed to these sudden calls, and he submitted to them with
a little groan. He did not know who the young woman might be, and he
did not care; it might be Mistress Cambridge, it might be Mistress
Clarissa herself, it might be the still-room maid, or the barmaid at
the "Rod and Fly;" it was all one to him. As for the young painter
fellow, the quiet lads were as likely to slip into these scrapes as
the rattles; indeed, the chances were rather against them: the Vicar
was inclined to cry, "Catch Mr. Sam Winnington in such a corner." But
the Vicar was in no way responsible for a youth who was not even his
own parishioner; he was not accountable for his not having worldly
goods wherewith to endow the young woman whom he was to lead to the
altar. Oddly enough, though worldly goods are undoubtedly introduced
into the service, there are no accompanying awkward questions: such
as, "What are your worldly goods, M.?" or, "Have you any worldly
goods, M.?" The Vicar did not care at all, except for his incipient
yawns, and his disordered appetite; he was a rebuke to gossips.

When the hour came, Dulcie was distressed: not about wrongdoing, for the
girl had no more idea that she was doing wrong than you have when you
write a letter on your own responsibility, and at your own dictation;
not at the absence of friends, for in Dulcie's day friends were
considered very much in the way on such occasions. Indeed, the best
accredited and most popular couples would take a start away from their
companions and acquaintances, and ride ten miles or so to be married
privately, and so escape all ceremony. Dulcie was troubled by the want
of a wedding-gown; yes, a wedding-gown, whether it is to wear well or
not, is to a woman what a wig is to a barrister, what a uniform is to a
soldier. Dulcia's had no existence, not even in a snip; no one could
call a half-worn sacque a wedding-gown, and not even her mother's tabby
could be brought out for fear of observation. Only think! a scoured
silk: how could Dulcie "bridle" becomingly in a scoured silk? There
would have been a certain inappropriateness in its shabbiness in the
case of one who had done