Chapter Four.
The Scene of Shame.
“Poor old chap!” said Percy Guest, with a laugh. “Married? Looked as if he was going to be hanged. Wonder whether I shall be as nervous and upset if—if—I ought to say when—it comes off? No, not likely, bless her. Might be all in a fidget to get it over for fear of a slip, but I don’t think I should look like that.”
He was approaching the church as these ideas ran through his head, and a glance at the clock showed him that he was half an hour too soon, consequent upon being hurried off by his friend.
“What shall I do?” he thought. “No time to go anywhere else; I’ll drop in and hang about in the church as if I did not belong to the party.”
Easier said than done. Already there was a little crowd collecting, attracted by the carpet laid up the steps—a little gathering of the people who always do attend weddings—those who wait till the bride arrives and then hurry in to see the service, and those who, being in charge of perambulators, keep entirely outside and block up pavement and porch. Then, too, there were the customary maiden ladies, the officials of the church, the bell ringers, the woman from the crossing at the corner of the square in a clean apron, the butchers’, bakers’, and fishmongers’ boys, and the children—especially those in a top-heavy condition from carrying other children, nearly as big as themselves.
Percy Guest was conscious of a whisper and a buzzing sound as he walked through the gates in what he intended to be a nonchalant fashion, but which proved to be very conscious, and then most conscious as a boy cried:
“’Ere he is, Bill!”
Fortunately the church door was close at hand, but before he entered he was aware that the turncock had joined the throng with three bright instruments over his shoulder, as if his services were likely to be wanted toward the end.