ade up his mind yet, Vicar. Perhaps you can persuade
him to it."

"But it is an honour--n'est-ce pas? To attend so beautiful a bride to
the altar--"

"Well, you see, the fact is--Mr. Pixley would have preferred reversing
the positions. He would like to have been bridegroom and me to be best
man."

"Ah--so! Well, it is not surprising--"

"Moreover, he would like to stop the wedding now if he could--"

"Ach, non! That is not possible," said the Vicar wrathfully, the
southern blood blazing in his face. "What would you do, my good sir,
and why?"

"Miss Brandt is my father's ward," said Pixley sturdily. "My father
objects to this marriage. He has sent me over to stop it."

"I understand," said the Vicar. "He wished his ward to marry you, but
Miss Brandt made her own choice, which she had a perfect right to do,
and, ma foi--" leaning back in his chair and regarding the two faces
in front of him, he did not finish his sentence in words, but
contented himself with cryptic nods whose meaning, we may hope, was
lost upon Charles Svendt's _amour propre_.

"And what would you do?" asked the Vicar presently.

"Well, if necessary, I can get up in the church and state that there
is just cause for stopping the marriage--"

"What just cause, I should ask you?"

"I have told you. My father--"

"I would not listen. I would order them to put you out--to carry you
out, if necessary, for making dis-turb-ance in my church. I would tell
them to sit on you in the churchyard till the wedding was over. What
good would you do? Ach, non! Be advised, my good sir, and re-linquish
any such in-tention. It will ac-complish nothing and only lead to your
own con-fusion."

"My father is applying to have Miss Brandt made a ward in Chancery--"

"By that time she will be Mrs. Graeme, and I am sure very happy,"
shrugged the Vicar. "Non--you can do nothing, and, if you will be
guided, you will not try."

And Charles Svendt lapsed into thoughtfulness.

XIV

"This is the Seigneurie," said Graeme, as they turned off the road,
through the latched gate, into the deep-shaded avenue.

The Seigneur came to them in the Long Drawing-Room, where once upon a
time the peacocks danced on the Queen's luncheon.

"Your time is getting short, Mr. Graeme," he said, with a quiet smile.
"I hear of great doings in preparation at St. Magloire"--which was the
official title of the Red House. "Have you given the doctor fair
warning?"

"Oh, we'll try to keep