He would have felt unworthy of her had he wanted to kiss her just then.
And, down below them, Jellies and her party rose, and a Marshal made a signal, and the conductor gave a couple of taps with his baton, and the bored musicians reached for their instruments, and their eyes rested sullenly on the tip of the poised stick....
“Hooray—let ’er go!” ’Orris roared huskily....
And once more the Wedding March broke forth.
END OF BOOK ONE
ENTR’ ACTE
Two men turned out of the gateway of the McGrath and walked up the street that led to the Euston Road. Just before they reached the corner one of them stopped and gave a lingering, but sardonic, look behind him. He was Jowett, the Professor of Painting, and his companion was the friend who had once talked with him at a students’ dance, while the Discobolus and the Gladiator had held the shawls and fans of the dancers. Then they went forward together again.
“So you’re shaking the dust off your feet?” Jowett’s friend said. “How many years has it been?”
“Twenty-odd. Twenty-two or three. Twenty-three years next March, to be precise. Nice way for a man to spend twenty-three years of his life, isn’t it?”