erience, clearly
belonged to the London which surrounded and enclosed his own silences
with civilised roar and the tumult of swift passings. On the surface the
small, dingy book-crammed study obviously held nothing this outer world
could require. The Vicar said as much courteously and he glanced round
the room as he spoke, gently smiling.

"But it is exactly this which brings me," Lord Coombe answered.

With great clearness and never raising the note of quiet to which the
walls were accustomed, he made his explanation. He related no incidents
and entered into no detail. When he had at length concluded the
presentation of his desires, his hearer knew nothing whatever, save what
was absolutely necessary, of those concerned in the matter. Utterly
detached from all curiosities as he was, this crossed the Vicar's mind.
There was a marriage ceremony to be performed. That only the contracting
parties should be aware of its performance was absolutely necessary.
That there should be no chance of opportunity given for question or
comment was imperative. Apart from this the legality of the contract was
all that concerned those entering into it; and that must be assured
beyond shadow of possible doubt.

In the half-hidden and forgotten old church to which the Vicarage was
attached such a ceremony could obviously be performed, and to an
incumbent detached from the outer world, as it were, and one who was
capable of comprehending the occasional gravity of reasons for silence,
it could remain so long as was necessary a confidence securely guarded.

"It is possible," the Vicar said at the end of the explanation. "I have
performed the ceremony before under somewhat similar circumstances."

A man of less breeding and with even normal curiosities might have made
the mistake of asking innocent questions. He asked none except such as
related to the customary form of procedure in such matters. He did not,
in fact, ask questions of himself. He was also fully aware that Lord
Coombe would have given no answer to any form of inquiry. The marriage
was purely his own singular affair. It was he himself who chose in this
way to be married--in a forgotten church in whose shadowy emptiness the
event would be as a thing brought to be buried unseen and unmarked by
any stone, but would yet be a contract binding in the face and courts of
the world if it should for any reason be exhumed.

When he rose to go and the Vicar rose with him, there was a mom