“I forbid it. There’s fraud here, as I believed all along. I thought that he used the wrong name, and now he’s gone and signed it.”
“What do you mean, madam?” asked the registrar. “Pray explain yourself.”
“I mean that he is deceiving this poor girl into a false marriage. His name is Sir Henry Graves, Bart., and he has signed himself there Samuel Rock.”
“The good lady is under a mistake,” explained Samuel, clasping his hands and writhing uncomfortably: “my name is Rock, and I am a farmer, not a baronet.”
“Well, I must say, sir,” answered the registrar, “that you look as little like the one as the other. But this is a serious matter, so perhaps your wife will clear it up. She ought to know who and what you are, if anybody does.”
“He is Mr. Samuel Rock, of the Moor Farm, Bradmouth,” Joan answered, in an impassive voice. “My friend here is mistaken. Sir Henry Graves is quite a different person.”
Mrs. Bird heard, and sank into a chair speechless, nor did she utter another syllable until she found herself at home again. Then the business went on, and presently the necessary certificates, of which Samuel was careful to obtain certified copies, were filled in and signed, and the party left the office.
“There’s something odd about that affair,” said the registrar to his assistant as he entered the amount of the fee received in a ledger, “and I shouldn’t wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Rock make their appearance in the Courts before they are much older. However, all the papers are in order, so they can’t blame me. What a pretty woman she is! but she looked very sad and ill.”
In the waiting-room of the office Joan held out her hand to Samuel, and said, “Good-bye.”
“Mayn’t I see you home?” he asked piteously.