"I have an idea," he said, with a humorous twinkle. "The Archbishop, who is a very good friend of mine, is forming a collection of antiquities. Now—" he searched in all his pockets—"I found a rare Elizabethan tobacco-pipe here the other day." He produced it and polished it carefully on his sleeve. Marjolaine, I am sorry to say, hid her face in her handkerchief, and was attacked by a fit of coughing which shook her from head to foot. "Perhaps," continued the Doctor, eyeing the pipe with fond regret, "perhaps if I were to offer that to his Grace, it might oil the wheels." He sighed deeply. "Yes!—It will be a wrench, but I 'll take it to Lambeth to-morrow—Ah, no! To-morrow is Sunday!"
"Dash it!" cried Jack, petulantly. "What a way Sunday has of coming in the wrong part of the week!"
"Hush!" said Doctor Sternroyd, reprovingly, "Monday, then."
"And you'll marry us the same day?" asked Jack.
"No, no!" replied the Doctor. "The day after, perhaps."
Marjolaine ticked the days off on her fingers. "Saturday—Sunday—Monday—Tuesday—! Four whole days!—"
The lovers looked at each other disconsolately, and together sighed, "Oh, dear!"
"And what am I to do till then?" cried Jack. "I daren't go home. My father 's quite capable of having me kidnapped and sent to my ship!"
Marjolaine clung to him with a little cry. "Oh, Jack!"
He turned to Doctor Sternroyd with sudden decision. "Doctor! You must give me a bed."