He had laid one page of the paper before them, with his forefinger upon an item in the left-hand top corner. Then he discreetly withdrew. Frank stared at it in horror.
‘Maude, your people have gone and put it in.’
‘Our marriage!’
‘Here it is! Listen! “Crosse—Selby. 30th June, at St. Monica’s Church, by the Rev. John Tudwell, M.A., Vicar of St. Monica’s, Frank Crosse, of Maybury Road, Woking, to Maude Selby, eldest daughter of Robert Selby, Esq., of St. Albans.” Great Scot, Maude! what shall we do?’
‘Well, dear, does it matter?’
‘Matter! It’s simply awful!’
‘I don’t mind much if they do know.’
‘But my reminiscences, Maude! The travels in the Tyrol! The Swiss Hotel! The Stateroom! Great goodness, how I have put my foot into it.’
Maude burst out laughing.
‘You old dear!’ she cried, ‘I don’t believe you are a bit better as a conspirator than I am. There’s only one thing you can do. Give the waiter half a crown, tell him the truth, and don’t conspire any more.’