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meant to show Clive her willingness to adorn his beloved with her most cherished possessions; but even as she spoke she saw Celia’s flower-like head bent beneath the veil and thought, swiftly:—‘But we are all so fair!’

Hester, after considering what was placed before her conversationally—Monica had already noticed this—and finding that she could not agree with it, was capable of making no reply, and for a moment now Monica feared— or hoped (only it was too late to hope for any estrangement)—that she would vouchsafe none. But, after a pause, looking steadily at the tea-pot, she said:

‘I don’t think a lace veil would look particularly well in a Registrar’s office.’

‘A Registrar’s office!’ Monica still heard the metallic note of her own voice as she said it. Clive in a Registrar’s office! She stood there, the caddie in her hand, and she could not pretend to smile.

‘Clive and I are going to get married in a Registrar’s office,’ said Hester. ‘I have no religious beliefs and I don’t like being stared at by a crowd of strangers.’

‘But,’ said Monica, carefully, after a moment; ‘there will be no strangers.’