It came to an end at last, and Iris ran away to change her dress, a sudden access of skittishness superimposed upon her shyness.
Douglas simultaneously took the opportunity of disappearing, and Sir Julian found himself enabled to put the question that had been making its way to his mind almost irresistibly all the morning.
"What does your business in Swindon consist of, Mr. Garrett?"
"Printing and stationery, Sir Julian," said the old man, proudly and simply. "A go-ahead little concern on the small scale, though I say it that shouldn't. It's enabled me to give my only son an allowance, so that he could see life in London for a while before settling down in Swindon like his father and grandfather before him."
"Your family has an old connection with Swindon, then?"
Sir Julian, interested, had forgotten the Keltic aspirations of Douglas until they were recalled by Mr. Garrett's answer.
"Two generations, Sir Julian. My grandfather came from the North, I believe, but he married a London gurrel, and they settled in Swindon after a year or two. Swindon is a fascinating town, I can assure you, and if ever you make a visit there I shall be happy to show you some of the glories of the dear old place."
Mr. Garrett wiped his glasses and walked about the room, talking gaily and persistently to while away the time of waiting for the bride's reappearance.
"And what's your opinion of a wedding, my dearr little fellow?" he genially enquired of Ambrose, who wore a rather forlorn aspect.
"Eh?" said Ambrose, with more dejection than usual in the delivery of his objectionable exclamation.