d stipulated for champagne as part of their fee, and who were already
drinking beer. Scents of Araby came from the kitchen, mingled with
cries. Margaret knew what had happened there, for it happened at Wickham
Place. One of the wedding dishes had boiled over, and the cook was
throwing cedar-shavings to hide the smell. At last they came upon
the butler. Henry gave him the keys, and handed Margaret down the
cellar-stairs. Two doors were unlocked. She, who kept all her wine at
the bottom of the linen-cupboard, was astonished at the sight. "We shall
never get through it!" she cried, and the two men were suddenly drawn
into brotherhood, and exchanged smiles. She felt as if she had again
jumped out of the car while it was moving.

Certainly Oniton would take some digesting. It would be no small
business to remain herself, and yet to assimilate such an establishment.
She must remain herself, for his sake as well as her own, since a
shadowy wife degrades the husband whom she accompanies; and she must
assimilate for reasons of common honesty, since she had no right to
marry a man and make him uncomfortable. Her only ally was the power of
Home. The loss of Wickham Place had taught her more than its possession.
Howards End had repeated the lesson. She was determined to create new
sanctities among these hills.

After visiting the wine-cellar, she dressed, and then came the wedding,
which seemed a small affair when compared with the preparations for it.
Everything went like one o'clock. Mr. Cahill materialised out of space,
and was waiting for his bride at the church door. No one dropped the
ring or mispronounced the responses, or trod on Evie's train, or cried.
In a few minutes the clergymen performed their duty, the register was
signed, and they were back in their carriages, negotiating the dangerous
curve by the lych-gate. Margaret was convinced that they had not been
married at all, and that the Norman church had been intent all the time
on other business.

There were more documents to sign at the house, and the breakfast to
eat, and then a few more people dropped in for the garden party. There
had been a great many refusals, and after all it was not a very big
affair--not as big as Margaret's would be. She noted the dishes and
the strips of red carpet, that outwardly she might give Henry what was
proper. But inwardly she hoped for something better than this blend of
Sunday church and fox-hunting. If only some one had been ups