The recently-created knight, Sir Enoch Cunningham, lumbered up the aisle in the wake of his wife. Sir Enoch had established a record for patriotic service by charging the Government only four times a reasonable profit on the output of his mill. He was prominently listed in the Birthday Honours and on this, his first public appearance, was profoundly self-conscious.
“There go the Cunninghams,” whispered Lady Elton from the pew behind Mrs. Long. “Aren’t they sickening?”
“When Knighthood was in Flour,” murmured Lady Denby, over her shoulder.
“He always reminds me of a piece of underdone pastry,” said Mrs. Long.
“Well,” remarked Mrs. Hudson, with a giggle, “they’ll be pie for everyone now.”
Across the aisle, Pamela de Latour was agitating herself over the fact that Major and Mrs. Beverley were sitting amongst the intimate friends of the groom.
“Why, in heaven’s name, do you suppose they have been put there?” she demanded of Miss Tyrrell and the Angus-McCallums, who shared her pew.
“Didn’t he and Sloane fly together?” suggested one of the latter. “Or did he save his life . . . or something?”
“I don’t know. But it seems odd to put them away up there. I heard he’d lost his job,” said Miss de Latour.
“I heard that, too,” agreed Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum.