“The Major, sir.”
“Show him in.”
The visitor, who entered jauntily with his silk hat still set at a slight angle on his head, was the well-groomed man who had led my bride up the aisle of the church. I judged him to be about forty-five, dark-complexioned, good-looking, but foppish in appearance, carrying his monocle with ease acquired by long practice.
“Well, Wynd,” he said, greeting his friend, cheerily, “all serene?”
“Entirely,” answered the other. And then, turning to me, introduced the new-comer as “Major Tattersett.”
“This, Major, is Dr Colkirk, my new son-in-law,” he explained. “Permit me to present him.”
“Congratulate you, my dear sir,” he responded laughing good-humouredly, while the Tempter remarked—
“The Major is, of course, fully aware of the circumstances of your marriage. He is our nearest friend.”
“Marriage rather unconventional, eh?” the other remarked to me. “Poor Beryl! It is a thousand pities that she has been struck down like that. Six months ago down at Wyndhurst she was the very soul of the house-parties—and here to-day she is dying.”
“Extremely sad,” I remarked. “As a medical man I see too vividly the uncertainty of human life.”