george finch's wedding-day dawned fair and bright. the sun beamed down as if george by getting married were doing it a personal favour. the breezes, playing about him, brought with them a faint but well-defined scent of orange-blossom. and from the moment when they had finished the practical business of getting outside their early worm, all the birds for miles around had done nothing but stand in the trees singing mendelssohn's wedding march. it was the sort of day to make a man throw out his chest and say "tra-la!": and george did so.

delightful, he reflected, as he walked up from the inn after lunch, to think that in a few short hours he and molly would be bowling away together in a magic train, each revolution of its wheels taking them nearer to the islands of the blest and—what was almost more agreeable—farther away from mrs. waddington.

it would be idle to deny that in the past three weeks george finch had found his future mother-in-law something of a trial. her consistent failure to hide the pain which the mere sight of him so obviously caused her was damping to an impressionable young man. george was not vain, and if molly's stepmother had been content to look at him simply as if she thought he was something the cat had dragged out of the ash-can, he could have borne up. but mrs. waddington went further. her whole attitude betrayed her belief that the cat, on inspecting george, had been disappointed. seeing what it had got, her manner suggested, it had given him the look of chagrin which cats give when conscious of effort wasted and had gone elsewhere to try again. a lover, counting the days until the only girl in the world shall be his, will see sweetness and light in practically everything: but george finch, despite his most earnest endeavours, had been compelled to draw the line at mrs. waddington.

however, these little annoyances were, after all, the merest trifles: and the thought, as he approached the house, that inside it there sat a suffering woman who, thinking of him, mourned and would not be comforted, did nothing to diminish his mood of overflowing happiness. he entered the grounds, humming lightly: and, starting to pass up the drive, came upon hamilton beamish, smoking a thoughtful cigarette.

"hullo," said george. "so you've got here?"

"correct," said hamilton beamish.

"how do you think molly is looking?"

"charming. but i only caught a glimpse of her as she was hurrying off."

"hurrying off?"

"yes. there has been a slight hitch in the proceedings. didn't you know?"

"my god! tell me!" said george, clutching his friend's arm.

"ouch!" said hamilton beamish, releasing the arm and rubbing it. "it is nothing to get excited about. all that has happened is that the clergyman who was to have married you has met with an accident. his wife telephoned just now to say that, while standing on a chair and trying to reach down a volume of devotional thought from an upper shelf, he fell and sprained his ankle!"

"the poor fish!" said george warmly. "what does he want to go doing that sort of thing for at a time like this? a man ought to decide once and for all at the outset of his career whether he is a clergyman or an acrobat and never deviate from his chosen path. this is awful news, hamilton. i must rush about and try to find a substitute. good heavens! an hour or so before the wedding, and no clergyman!"

"calm yourself, george. the necessary steps are being taken. i think mrs. waddington would have been just as pleased to let the whole thing drop, but molly became very active. she telephoned in all directions, and eventually succeeded in locating a disengaged minister in the neighbourhood of flushing. she and mrs. waddington have gone off together in the car to fetch him. they will be back in about an hour and a half."

"you mean to tell me," demanded george, paling, "that i shall not see molly for an hour and a half?"

"absence makes the heart grow fonder. i quote thomas haynes bayly. and frederick william thomas, a poet of the early nineteenth century, amplifies this thought in the lines:

''tis said that absence conquers love:

but oh, believe it not:

i've tried, alas, its power to prove,

but thou art not forgot.'

be a man, george. clench your hands and try to endure."

"it's sickening."

"be brave," said hamilton beamish. "i know just how you feel. i, also, am going through the torment of being parted from the one woman."

"absolutely sickening! a clergyman, and not able to stand on a chair without falling off!" a sudden, gruesome thought struck him. "hamilton! what's it a sign of when the clergyman falls off a chair and sprains his ankle on the morning of the wedding?"

"how do you mean, what is it a sign of?"

"i mean, is it bad luck?"

"for the clergyman, undoubtedly."

"you don't think it means that anything is going to go wrong with the wedding?"

"i have never heard of any such superstition. you must endeavour to control these fancies, george. you are allowing yourself to get into a thoroughly overwrought condition."

"well, what sort of a condition do you expect a fellow to be in on his wedding-morning, with clergymen falling off chairs wherever he looks?"

hamilton smiled tolerantly.

"i suppose nerves are inevitable on such an occasion. i notice that even sigsbee h., who can scarcely consider himself a principal in this affair, is thoroughly jumpy. he was walking on the lawn some little time ago, and when i came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder, he leaped like a startled roe. if sigsbee h. waddington possessed a mind, i would say that there was something on it. no doubt he is brooding on the west again."

the sun was still shining brightly, but somehow the day seemed to george to have grown overcast and chill. a grey foreboding had come upon him.

"i wish this hadn't happened."

"exactly what the clergyman said."

"it isn't fair that a delicate, highly-strung girl like molly should be upset like this at such a time."

"i think you exaggerate the effects of the occurrence on molly. she seemed to me to be bearing it with equanimity."

"she wasn't pale?"

"not in the least."

"or agitated?"

"she seemed quite her normal self."

"thank god!" said george.

"in fact, the last thing she said to ferris, as the car drove away, was...."

"what?"

hamilton beamish had broken off. he was frowning.

"my memory is terrible. it is the effect, of course, of love. i have just remembered...."

"what did molly say?"

"i have forgotten. but i have just remembered what it was that i was told to tell you as soon as you arrived. it is curious how often the mention of a name will, as it were, strike a chord. i spoke of ferris, and it has just come back to me that ferris gave me a message for you."

"oh, darn ferris!"

"he asked me, when i saw you, to say that a female of some kind was calling you up on the telephone earlier in the morning. he told her that you were at the inn, and advised her to get you there, but she said it didn't matter, as she was coming down here immediately. she said she had known you in east gilead."

"oh?" said george, indifferently.

"and her name, if i remember rightly, was dubbs or tubbs or jubbs or—no, i have it. my memory is better than i supposed. it was may stubbs. does it convey anything to you?"