“You shall go round with me to Lady Wyndover’s in the morning,” said Trafford. “I don’t know whether I’ve mentioned you to Miss Chetwynde, but it hasn’t been for want of thinking of you.”
“That’s all right,” said Norman.
“If I had known you had been coming back to-night, I would have asked you to be my best man,” said Trafford. “But I’ve got young Ffoulkes.”
“That’s all right,” said Norman again.
“You’ll stay here to-night,” said Trafford.
But Norman said that he wanted to get his hair cut, and buy a few things to smarten him up for so important an occasion, and he went off to his hotel, but not until Trafford had asked him whether he wanted any money. Norman said he had enough for the present, at any rate, though he would have accepted a loan as frankly and readily as it was offered if he had needed it.
Trafford slept little that night. Soon after breakfast Norman turned up, beautifully attired in a regulation frock coat, and a glistening top hat. He looked remarkably handsome, and full of sympathy with Trafford’s coming joy. If it had been his own marriage he could not have looked more happy and radiant.
“I don’t know whether it’s quite the right thing for us to go round to Miss Chetwynde’s, is it, Traff?” he said. “Not having been married many times, I am not up in the etiquette of the business, but I’ve an idea that the bridegroom shouldn’t show up at the house of his bride on the morning of the execution.”
Trafford smiled. “I don’t know anything about it for the same reason,” he said; “but I should like to see her before we go to the church. I’m anxious for her to know my best friend.”