. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask Misses GADSBY.

CAPT. G. winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of
Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake.

CAPT. M. (At table.) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech.

CAPT. G. (After three minutes' agony.) Ha-hmmm. (Thunders Of applause.)

CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit
while Mamma is weeping over "the Missus." (CAPT. G. disappears. CAPT. M.
starts up tearing his hair.) It's not half legal. Where are the shoes?
Get an ayah.

AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone band karo all the jutis.

CAPT. M. (Brandishing scab larded sword.) Woman, produce those shoes
Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn't crack Gaddy's head more than
it is. (Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his
sleeve.)

Where is the Bride? (To the company at large.) Be tender with that rice.
It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag.

* * * * * *

Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs toward the sunset.

CAPT. M. (In the open.) Stole away, by Jove! So much the worse for
Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdberan! Where's
your horse?

CAPT. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of an earshot.) Where
the--is my Wife?

CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young
Lochinvar.

Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him.

CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get 'round, you brute--you hog--you
beast! Get round!

Wrenches horse's head over, nearly breaking lower jaw: swings himself
into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale
of Best Patna.

CAPT. M. For your life and your love-ride, Gaddy--And God bless you!

Throws half a pound of rice at G. who disappears, bowed forward on the
saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust.

CAPT. M. I've lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing
absently):--

"You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a
young man married is a young man marred!"

Miss DEERCOURT. (From her horse.) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more
plain spoken than polite!

CAPT. M. (Aside.) They say marriage is like cholera. 'Wonder who'll be
the next victim.

White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left
wondering.

THE GARDEN OF EDEN And ye shall be as--Gods!

SCENE.--Thymy grass-plot at back of