Lady William’s face blanched out of its momentarily high colour. ‘I have got none of them,’ she said, in a faint voice.
‘Well, there is no particular harm in that. I don’t know who has—not me, I am sure. What does your friend want you to do—send these things to the Marquis? What does the Marquis want with Mab’s baptismal certificate? My dear Emily, I suppose that woman, being partly French, thinks that you should always have your papiers in order? There could not be greater nonsense.’
‘Do you really think so? I did myself. Why should there ever be any question? Nobody asks you, as you say, for your marriage certificate, James.’
‘No,’ said the Rector; but he added, looking at the question from a purely professional point of view, ‘of course, you can get that sort of thing, when it’s wanted, at a moment’s, at least, at a day’s notice. Where were you married, Emily?’
She was evidently not prepared for this question, and came to herself with a little start. The colour forsook her cheeks. She clasped her hands together nervously. ‘Oh James, that is what gives it its sting. I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Is that dreadful? Is it dangerous? Might it throw a doubt? My father went with me, that is the only thing—to London somewhere.’
‘I knew you were not married at home,’ said Mr. Plowden, rising up and placing himself in front of the fireplace. ‘I knew there was something queer about it. In the name of wonder, Emily, why, if my father went with you, didn’t he have you married at home? He can’t, in that case, have disapproved.’
‘I don’t think he disapproved.’
‘Then why, why weren’t you married at home? My father went with you, and you don’t know? What a very queer business! And who went with you beside my father?’