"I know, my love," said his wife to Katherine, coming out of her room, "that it doesn't go with your costume, but, just to please me, wear this piece of lace. It brought me happiness, and I've got the notion into my foolish old head that it may bring good luck to you. It's valuable," she added, nodding her head, "in more senses than one."
"I'll take every care of it," promised Katherine, "and you shall have it back in less than an hour."
"You're to keep it all your life, dearie. And I've some other bits for you, later on, to go with it."
It was but a short walk from Gloucester Place to Trafalgar Road, but we gained enough attention to satisfy any craving in that respect. The sight of old Captain Winterton, arm-in-arm with Miss Katherine in itself attracted notice; I wanted the party to stroll along informally, but he begged me to allow him to superintend this detail, and his joy in thus leading the procession was something it would have been a pity to hurt. Arrived, he marshalled us two deep, and went into the office to make inquiries. Returning, he appeared to have bethought himself of the fact that this was to be a quiet wedding, for he beckoned in a mysterious way, spoke in a whisper assuring us all was in order. Within, his deportment was that of a devout person in church; the discreet manner in which he gave half-sovereigns to everyone about the place willing to accept tips, suggested an anxiety to make the ceremony as legal and binding as possible. The two young people made a good-looking couple as they stood at the table, and they were extraordinarily composed; for myself, I can restrain tears, with no difficulty, at a funeral, but at a wedding—well, the one incident comes, as it were, at the end of the story, and there is nothing more to be found out concerning it: in the second, you cannot help speculating, and wondering, and sometimes fearing in regard to the coming chapters.
The registrar—I knew him by sight as well as anything, and had always guessed, incorrectly, he had to do with a picture palace—the registrar shook hands, gave over the certificate, and told the bridegroom (first inquiring anxiously whether he had seen this week's Punch) an anecdote concerning a drill-sergeant. I think old Captain Winterton was rather pained at this secular demeanour, for he escorted us out, sorted us into couples, and gave orders. "The wife," he whispered to me, "will be desirous of knowing that everything has gone off well." In Gloucester Place, some of our neighbours did an act that I shall always remember to their credit; from the balconies they threw down flowers as the young soldier and his bride came near. I recollect that Katherine picked all of them up, and smiled at the givers, and blew a kiss to an infant, who, held by his nurse, was clapping his chubby hands.
The meal was, for Edward's sake, taken early; the lad seemed concerned at the possibility of disastrous happenings at the head offices during his absence, and assured his new brother-in-law that railway life exacted, in these days, and under Government control, a strain that military men with their comparatively simple duties could scarcely estimate. Langford appeared to be in no humour to dispute or argue with anybody.
"People say I look worried," remarked Edward. "What do you think?"
Langford had not observed this, but if it existed, felt sure there was every reason.
"You wouldn't imagine I was not much more than fifteen, would you?"
Langford had, it appeared, estimated the other's age as higher than this; Edward showed gratification.