That breakfast at the Parsonage seemed interminable to Haggard, but even clerical breakfasts must have an end, and at length Mrs. Dodd rose, to the general relief of all present. There were yet two mortal hours to get through, and the men of the party sought the cool shades of the vicarage garden.
"Pull yourself together, old man," said Spunyarn to his friend, for Haggard was looking pale and miserable; "you're as sulky as a bear with a sore head. It's quite unnecessary to pose as a hero of romance. What's up with you, man; boots too tight?"
"I'll be hanged if I can tell you what's up," said his friend, "but this I know, I'm confoundedly depressed."
"Perhaps it's your natural timidity," said the other.
"Don't chaff, Shirtings; you're a very good fellow, you know, but I'm not in a laughing humour."
"Well, you needn't sulk all the same," said Spunyarn; "take my advice and have a glass of brandy."
Justice Haggard looked far more like a bridegroom than his son; the old gentleman, in his blue frock coat, his blue bird's-eye neckerchief, and with a flower in his button-hole, was the picture of health and happiness; while his white hat, which was cocked a little on one side, completed his festal appearance. He gave his son a hearty smack on the back.
"When I married your mother, Reginald, my boy, I was as jolly as a man could be; why, there's nothing to be alarmed about, unless you've lost the ring, you know; and the ladies wouldn't let you off with that excuse, for there's always the key of the church door in case of an emergency."
Haggard forced a smile.
"The ring's safe enough, father," he said.