As yet the market people had not heard the news.
But the news spread. The clerk told his wife. "I come from the church," he said. "I have witnessed the marriage of Miss Molly—Captain Crowle's Molly—with the noble lord who wears the star and looks so grand—a private wedding it was. I know not why. The parson was the Reverend Mr. Purdon, he who reads the morning prayers and preaches on Sunday."
Then the clerk's wife, slipping on her apron—for such folk find the shelter of the apron for their hands necessary in conversation—ran round to the pump room. No one was there as yet, but the two dippers. To them she communicated the news.
Then she went on to the market and told all the people of the town who were chaffering there.
At seven o'clock the captain, walking in his garden, was surprised by the arrival of the horns, who stood before the house and performed a noble flourish. "What the devil is that for?" said the captain. Then there arrived the butchers, with their marrowbones and cleavers, and began to make their music with zeal. The captain went out to them. Up went their hats.
"Huzza for Miss Molly and her husband."
"Her husband? What do you mean?"
"Her husband—his lordship—married this morning."
"What?" The captain stared in amazement. Then he rushed into the house. Molly was in the kitchen. "What is this?" he asked. "The butchers are here and the horns, and they swear you were married this morning, Molly?"
"Why, captain, I have not been outside the door. I am not married, I assure you, and I begin to think, now, that I never shall be married."