ure with it, and there was some left still, to take Marie and
him away on a fine honey-moon, and to brighten their first year with
many jollities. His salary was all right for a fellow of his age.
Marie was not far wrong when she said that they were starting "awfully
well."

Osborn sang:

"And--when--I--tell--them,
And I'm certainly going to tell them,
That I'm the man whose wife you're one day going to be,
They'll never believe me--"

That latest thing in revue songs fitted the case to a fraction. He was
the luckiest man in the whole great round world.

Osborn was pleased with his reflection in the glass. For his wedding
he had bought his first morning-coat and silk hat. He had been as
excited as a girl. He had a new dress-suit, too, and a dinner-jacket
from the best tailor in town, ready packed for travelling. He had been
finicking over his coloured shirts, handkerchiefs, and socks; a set of
mauve, a set of blue, a set of grey; the brown set with the striped
shirt; they were all awf'ly smart. Marie was so dainty, she liked a
man to be smart, too. All he wanted was to please her.

Rokeby came early, as quiet and lacklustre as ever. He sat down in the
obvious lodging-house bedroom, lighted a cigarette and looked at
Osborn without a smile. He prepared himself to be bored and amazed;
weddings, tiresome as they were, always amazed him. And he was
prepared, too, for a settled insanity in Osborn until--

"I wonder how long _he'll_ be?" Rokeby thought.

"I've finished packing," said Osborn, clapping his old brushes
together; the new ones lay among the new suits. "It's time we started,
almost, isn't it?"

"Not by an hour," Rokeby answered, consulting a wrist watch. "Have you
breakfasted?"

"Not yet."

"You'd better, hadn't you?"

Osborn was concerned with the set of the new coat over his fine
shoulders.

"Breakfast was on the table when I came through," added Rokeby.

"Was it?" replied Osborn absently.

Rokeby took his friend's arm, piloted him with patient firmness into
the sitting-room, and pulled out a chair.

Osborn ate and drank spasmodically. Between the spasms he hummed under
his breath:

"And--when--I--tell--them,
And I'm certainly going to tell them,
That I'm the man whose wife you're one day going to be,
They'll never believe me--"

Rokeby smoked several cigarettes.

"How long'll it take us to get to the church?" Osborn asked presently,
with his eye on the clock.

"Ten mi