"I shouldn't like to marry a man with a chin like that," said the girl in red. Her companion, a ferret-faced young gentleman with his hair parted in the middle, inserted his eye-glass and stared deliberately across the room.
"Obstinate-lookin' beggar—what?" he drawled.
Unconscious of these criticisms, George Leslie sat at his solitary table, only looking up from his newspaper whenever the door of the room opened to admit a fresh arrival. It was on the sixth occasion that his inspection appeared to be successful. His lips parted in a smile, and, laying down his paper, he rose quietly from his chair.
The girl in red nudged her companion.
"She's come at last. Kept him waiting long enough."
The ferret-faced young man indulged himself in another leisurely survey. "Worth it, too, by Jove!" he ejaculated admiringly.
His criticism, if a trifle crude in expression, was sound enough in taste. The girl who had just come in was most distinctly worth waiting for. Beautifully dressed, with a shy yet charming prettiness, she moved across the tea-room towards Leslie, and held out her hand with a little smile of apology.
"I am so sorry!" she said. "I know I'm dreadfully late."
There was a momentary twinkle in Leslie's grey eyes.
"Twenty-one-and-a-half minutes," he said. "Not a record, Nancy, by a long way."
She sat down in the chair which he pulled up, and began to take off her gloves.
"There's one nice thing about you," she answered, looking at him with frank affection, "you never mind people being late, do you?"
"I occasionally make an exception in business hours," said Leslie.
"Oh, business!" She shrugged her pretty shoulders. "I expect you're simply horrid in business, George. I'm sure you bully all those poor people at the garage dreadfully."
Leslie shook his head.
"I leave that to Morton these days. My time's taken up in making them miserable at the works."
The girl laughed.
"I can just see you," she said. "I suppose you stick your chin out and growl at them like you do at me when you're cross?"
"Something the same way," admitted Leslie, "only not quite so violent. You see, they're not often as irritating as you are, Nancy."
She looked at him mischievously, and then suddenly clasped her hands.
"Oh, George," she said, "I'd quite forgotten. Are you doing anything next Wednesday?"
"Nothing more than usual," said Leslie. "About eight hours' work."
"Oh, that's all right then. It's father's and mother's wedding-day, and the old dears want to celebrate it in some way. I suggested that we should go for a motor picnic to Beechwood—just the three of us, and get you to drive us. Don't you think it's a lovely idea? You know there's a dear old church there, where Cardinal Wolsey was married or died or did something, and you and I can get away together after lunch and have a look at it. Both father and mother don't care for that sort of thing, and they won't mind my going with you. You know father's taken quite a fancy to you since you came round that day and showed him the new car."
Leslie leaned back in his chair and looked at her with a kind of amused gravity. Then he shook his head.
"Things can't go on like this, Nancy," he said.
Her dark blue eyes opened innocently.
"Can't go on like what?" she inquired.
"I mean I can't go on deceiving your people in this way."
Nancy drew back, pouting.
"Oh, George dear, I thought we'd settled all that."
Leslie smiled.
"You settled it, Nancy—I didn't. But at the best it was only to be a temporary arrangement. Well, in my opinion, the time has come to end it."
"But we can't end it, dear," protested Nancy, helping herself delicately to a chocolate éclair.
"Why not?" asked Leslie. "I can go to your father and ask him whether he has any objection to me as a son-in-law. If he has—well, at least we shall know where we are, and then you can make up your mind what you're going to do."
"Now you're being horrid," said Nancy. "You know very well father won't let me marry you. He thinks, because you've made your money yourself, and because you run a motor-car business, that—that——"
"That I'm not a gentleman," finished Leslie, smiling good-naturedly. "Well, I can't help that, Nancy. Perhaps he's right. My point is that it doesn't alter the question. If you're going to marry me, you'll have to do it some day either with or without your father's consent."
"There's no hurry," protested Nancy weakly.
"Not the least," admitted Leslie, "but, on the other hand, there's no reason for waiting. The business is bringing me in an excellent income, and we're only wasting both our lives."
Nancy stirred her tea, and looked at him sorrowfully.
"George," she said, "you'll make me cry if you go on like that. Why can't we stop as we are just a little longer? Something's sure to turn up."
Leslie shook his head.
"Nothing ever turns up in this world unless people dig for it. Come, Nancy"—he smiled at her—"if you like me well enough to marry me, surely you can't mind my asking your father whether he objects. I know you dislike rows and unpleasantness of any kind, but there must be a limit to everything."
Nancy wriggled rather unhappily in her chair, looking prettier than ever.
"I don't know what to do," she said forlornly. "I'm awfully fond of you, George, and I would like to marry you, really I would, dear, but I simply can't go and have a nasty, silly squabble with father and mother. You know they wouldn't hear of it. They're frightfully old-fashioned, both of them, and they think I'm sure to marry a duke or something. If I told them I wanted to marry you, they'd have a fit. I might just as well say I was going to run away with the coachman. Give me some more tea, dear."
Leslie, who did not seem to be the least annoyed, poured her out a second cup.
"Well, it seems pretty plain, Nancy," he said, "that you'll have to choose between me and your love of peace."
She looked at him with a kind of mock despair.
"Oh, George, are you going to desert me, just when I want your help? I didn't think you were like that, or I shouldn't have loved you."
"But you must make up your mind one way or the other," protested Leslie, laughing.
Nancy shook her head despairingly.
"What's the good of telling me that, George? You know I can't make up my mind; I never could. Someone's always had to do it for me. Let's just go on as we are for a bit. It's awfully nice loving each other, and no one knowing anything about it, and perhaps you'll save father's life or something."
"If that's all it depends on," said Leslie ironically, "we may as well begin printing the invitations."
"Now, you're not to stick out your chin like that and look cross," said Nancy. "It's just as tiresome for me as it is for you; and you ought to be nice and sympathetic, instead of being grumpy."
"I'm not a bit cross really," said Leslie. "I should as soon think of getting cross with a flower as with you."
Nancy brightened up wonderfully.
"Oh, that's sweet of you, George. I love people to say things like that to me, and you so seldom do it." Then she paused, and looked at him with mischievous, pleading eyes. "And you will come and drive us on Wednesday, won't you, dear?" she added.
The corners of Leslie's mouth twitched.
"Nancy," he said, "you're as wicked as you're beautiful."
"Oh, dear," said Nancy, "that's the second in two minutes."
* * * * * * *
Colonel Peyton pushed back his plate, and got up from the breakfast-table.
"Well, it's a lovely day," he observed, looking out of the window. "I hope that young man will be punctual. Are you women ready?"
"Did you ever know mother late for anything, Father?" inquired Nancy calmly.
Colonel Peyton chuckled, and shook his finger at her.
"It's you I'm thinking of, miss," he said; "you're the one that will keep us waiting."
"Come along," said Mrs. Peyton, "and put your things on, darling. We mustn't keep the car standing."
Mrs. Peyton, having been brought up with horses, had never been able to rid herself of the idea that a motor became restless under such treatment.
Nancy laughed, and accompanied her mother upstairs, from which region she shortly emerged, looking bewitchingly demure and pretty in a sort of Kate Greenaway cloak and bonnet.
The Colonel, who was just struggling into his coat, gazed at her with fond approval.
"Very nice, Nancy," he said; "very nice. You remind me of your mother."
The compliment—to Colonel Peyton it was a very genuine compliment—had hardly left his lips when there came the loud hum of a motor-car driving up to the house. Nancy stepped forward, and opened the door.
"Punctual to the minute," observed the Colonel triumphantly. "It's a pleasure to deal with a young man like that."
The young man in question brought the car round with a graceful sweep, and pulled up noiselessly level with the doorstep.
"How do you do?" he said, taking off his cap, and bowing slightly to Nancy and Mrs. Peyton.
The Colonel stepped out and offered his hand.
"How are you, Mr. Leslie?" he inquired. "Very good of you to come round and drive us yourself. Now you're making cars of your own you don't do much of this sort of thing, I suppose—eh, what?"
"Not often," said Leslie gravely. "Unless people specially ask for me, I generally send one of the men."
Nancy's eyes sparkled merrily.
"May I sit in front with the driver, Father?" she asked. "I love to watch him pull out the handles."
The Colonel looked a trifle embarrassed.
"Oh, I—I—er—expect Mr. Leslie doesn't like to be asked questions while he's driving, Nancy."
It seemed to him curious that his daughter failed to recognize that Leslie was a cut above the ordinary chauffeur.
"I hope Miss Peyton will sit in front if she wishes to," said Leslie. "I don't in the least mind being asked questions. One gets used to it, you know."
Nancy did not wait for any further discussion, but jumped lightly up into the vacant seat, while a solemn-looking butler proceeded to stow a hamper into the back of the car. The Colonel and Mrs. Peyton then took their places, and Leslie, slipping in his clutch, turned the car slowly round and started off up the road.
It was a beautiful summer day of blue and gold, and the twenty-five miles to Beechwood lay through some of the fairest country in England. Pleasantly warmed by the sun, and lulled by the gentle drone of the motor, the old people lay back in their comfortable seats, and gazed contentedly at the passing scenery. Not so Nancy, who, sitting upright, with a demure smile on her face and mischief in her eyes, proceeded to question Leslie with an apparently artless enthusiasm as to the various parts of the car. He answered her seriously and politely, never smiling or varying from the respectful tone of a temporary employé.
"I hope Nancy isn't bothering that young man too much," observed the Colonel in an undertone to his wife.
Mrs. Peyton beamed good-naturedly at the couple in front.
"Oh, people of that sort like to be asked questions," she whispered back. "He's proud to show off his car to Nancy; you can be sure of that."
"I only hope she won't make him run us into a ditch with her chattering," was the Colonel's rejoinder.
That this tragedy was successfully avoided may be gathered from the fact that half an hour later the car pulled up in a little woodland clearing just above Beechwood village. It was a charming spot carpeted with soft mossy turf, and hemmed in on three sides with trees. From the fourth the Buckinghamshire countryside stretched out in a magnificent rolling panorama of twenty miles.
After a brief and whispered consultation with his wife, Colonel Peyton turned to Leslie.
"I hope you'll lunch with us, Mr. Leslie," he said. "We have brought plenty for four."
Leslie bowed.
"I shall be very pleased to," he answered. And going round to the back of the car, he proceeded to assist Nancy in getting out the hamper.
The lunch looked most attractive spread out on a clean white cloth, for, like many elderly soldiers, Colonel Peyton regarded food as only slightly inferior in importance to religion and good breeding. Seated beside Mrs. Peyton, Leslie found himself being patronized by that complaisant lady with all the well-meaning condescension of her kind.
"You must eat a good lunch, Mr. Leslie," she observed, helping him generously to cold game-pie. "I am sure it must be most tiring driving that great heavy car."
"To say nothing of answering all your questions—eh, Nancy?" put in the Colonel. "Have some champagne?" He held out the bottle to Leslie.
The latter filled up Mrs. Peyton's glass, and then helped himself.
"Driving a car nowadays isn't a very tiring business," he explained, "especially when one is used to it."
"Well, I mean to try it before long," said the Colonel. "One has to take to the infernal things in self-defence—what? I shall probably come down on you, now you've taken to making cars yourself. Sir Herbert Temple tells me they're excellent."
Nancy clapped her hands.
"Oh, Father, that will be delightful!" she said. "And can't you get Mr. Leslie to come and drive us?"
Leslie bit his lip to stop himself from smiling.
"My dear child," said the Colonel, "Mr. Leslie is much too busy a man for that sort of thing. It's very good of him to come to-day."
"I suppose the motor-car business is a very thriving industry," hazarded Mrs. Peyton vaguely. "Do you make them yourself, Mr. Leslie?"
"With a little assistance," answered Leslie. "It's rather complicated work, you know."
"It must be," said Mrs. Peyton sympathetically. "The tyres alone, for instance. I can't think how you cut all those funny patterns on the rubber. What a perfect day for a picnic, isn't it?"
Having taken this abrupt æsthetic turn, the conversation wandered away into general channels, until by a natural process it drifted back to the immediate surroundings of the party.
"I want to see the church," said Nancy, throwing a little sidelong glance at Leslie. "I believe it's most awfully interesting. Cardinal Wolsey did something or other in it."
"The church, the church?" inquired Colonel Peyton in whom lunch had induced certain symptoms of restfulness. "What church? Where is it?"
"I believe it's down in the village," answered Nancy innocently. "I could walk down and back before you are ready to start."
"I don't think you'd better," said the Colonel. "You'll probably meet some drunken tramp."
"Well, perhaps Mr. Leslie would walk down with me," suggested Nancy. "I do want to see the church frightfully. That was why I suggested Beechwood."
"I should be delighted to," said Leslie simply.
Colonel Peyton looked a little doubtful. The young man certainly seemed most respectful and well-mannered, but—but—well, well, after all, where was the harm. Having asked him to lunch, it would appear rather unkind to refuse his well-meant offer, especially as the suggestion had originally come from Nancy.
"Go along with you, then," said the Colonel good-naturedly. "But don't be late. We want to start back by three."
Side by side, Nancy and Leslie set off down the hill. For some little way Nancy was bubbling over with suppressed merriment, which only found its escape when they rounded the corner of the hill and were out of sight of the older people. Then she thrust her arm through Leslie's, and broke into a long ripple of laughter.
"Oh, George dear," she said. "I thought I should have exploded. Your face was simply lovely!"
Leslie smiled contentedly.
"If it comes to that," he retorted, "you're looking rather nice yourself this morning, Nancy."
Nancy squeezed his arm gently.
"That's very pretty," she said, "but you mustn't say that sort of thing too often, George, or I shall think you've been practising. Where are we going to?"
"Why, to the church, of course," answered Leslie.
Nancy wrinkled her nose.
"But I don't want to go to the church," she protested. "It's sure to be all dusty and stuffy, and there'll be some horrid old man who'll want to crawl round with us and point out Cardinal Wolsey. Let's go and sit in the wood somewhere, and just talk."
Leslie shook his head.
"No, Nancy," he said sternly. "I can't encourage such deception. Come along to the church."
Nancy sighed.
"Oh, dear," she murmured, "that's the worst of loving a man with a chin like yours. I shouldn't be half so frightened of you if you had a beard, George. Will you grow one to please me when we're married?"
"You shall have whiskers if you want them," said Leslie tenderly.
Nancy laughed, and, withdrawing her arm, stopped to pick two or three flowers that were nestling in the hedgerow.
"There you are," she said, putting them in his buttonhole. Then she turned up her face. "You may kiss me now if you like."
Leslie put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her very gently.
Nancy patted his sleeve.
"You dear, obstinate old thing!" she said. "I believe you like me rather, after all."
"I do a little," said Leslie quietly.
Walking side by side, they came out on to the bend of the hill that leads down into Beechwood village. The small hamlet with its thatched cottages lay spread out below them in the warm July sunshine.
"What a sweet place, isn't it?" said Nancy. "There's the church." She pointed down to a little square tower, half hidden amongst the trees. "And, oh, look!" she added. "There's someone outside with a motor-car. I suppose he's come to see Cardinal Wolsey too."
Leslie said nothing. He was busy flicking away some dust from his coat with his handkerchief.
"He's left the car and gone inside," went on Nancy. "What fun! Let's steal it, George, and go for a ride!"
"I don't think we'd better," said Leslie. "He might be the bishop inspecting."
Nancy shook her head.
"Bishops never inspect," she said decidedly. "They sit at home and swear at the Government. I know, because my uncle's one."
"Well, we'll go inside too, and see what he's doing," said Leslie. "Perhaps he's breaking open the poor-box."
They turned in under the old wooden gateway and walked up the churchyard path. The door of the porch was open, and as they entered Leslie closed it behind them. At that moment the organ broke softly into music.
Nancy slipped her arm into her companion's.
"Oh, dear!" she whispered. "I believe there's a service on."
As she spoke an elderly clergyman in a surplice came out suddenly from a side door in the chancel. He walked slowly to the steps, and stood there with a book in his hand looking down the aisle towards them.
"It's our wedding service," said Leslie simply.
All the colour went suddenly out of Nancy's face. She stood for a moment as if turned to white marble, while the sound of the organ rose louder and louder, mounting up triumphantly into the fretted roof, and filling all the church with its joyous harmony. She tried to speak, but somehow or other the words refused to come. Then she felt Leslie's arm tighten, and she was walking up the aisle, while the music sank and died in low, melodious tones. She had a vague impression of two men getting up from the front pew.
"Gathered together—sight of God—face of this congregation—join together—man and woman—holy matrimony—honourable estate instituted——"
But this was impossible, absurd. She couldn't be married like this. What was Leslie thinking of? The man must stop.
The monotonous drone continued:
"Have this woman—wedded wife—live together—God's ordinance—holy estate matrimony—lover, comfort, honour, an' keeper—sickness and in health—forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?"
Leslie's voice came, cheerful and distinct:
"I will."
"Have this man—wedded husband—live together—God's ord'nance—holy estate matrimony. Obey him, serve him, love, honour, and keep him—sickness—health—forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him so long as ye both shall live?"
Nancy gasped.
"Who giveth this woman—married—this man?"
There was a shuffle of feet, and somebody stepped forward beside her.
Nancy found herself holding Leslie's hand. Her mind seemed to be a whirling wilderness of amazed protest. What was she to do? Why hadn't she spoken before? She wouldn't be married like this—she wouldn't—she wouldn't! It was hateful of Leslie! She'd—she'd—What was it the man wanted her to say?
"I, Nancy, take thee, George—wedded husband—have and to hold——"
Somehow she had stumbled through the responses, and then she was kneeling beside Leslie, and her hand was still in his.
It was too late now. She was married—married—married, and all the protests in the world would be worse than useless. Even the parson's drone seemed to ring with a note of finality.
"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
Of what happened immediately after, Nancy never had any very clear idea. She remembered signing a book, and shaking hands with two complete strangers, and being congratulated by the old clergyman. And at last she and Leslie were alone.
It was then that Nancy began to cry.
"Don't, dearest, don't!" said Leslie.
He took her in his arms, and kissed her wet eyes and quivering lips.
"Oh, how could you—how could you?" She hid her face against his coat, and somehow the laughter forced its way through her tears. "Oh, George, you beast, you beast, you bully!"
"It was the only way, my Nancy."
His voice was very tender, and the steady grey eyes looked down on her alight with love. She took his handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed her eyes.
"I'll never forgive you—never! It was horrible of you, George!" Then came the old mischievous smile, like a flash of sunshine through the rain. "However did you do it, dear?"
"I got a special licence on Saturday," said Leslie calmly. "Then I came down here, saw the parson, and told him to be ready at two o'clock. I said we might keep him waiting, so I would pay double fees."
Nancy burst into a ripple of laughter.
"Oh, George," she said, "I think you must be the devil!"
"Well, he took up the bargain quick enough. Then I told Morton, my partner, to come down with another car and wait outside the churchyard. Directly he saw me coming he was to go in and start the parson, and that's how everything was ready. It was quite a simple matter, really."
"But it's only just beginning," said Nancy. "Think of father and mother."
"I have," said Leslie. "Morton is driving them home. I have given him a letter explaining the circumstances. We shall go back in the other car."
Nancy collapsed.
"And then?" she inquired faintly.
"Then I shall take you to Claridge's, and go round and see your father. I want to apologize to him."
Nancy shuddered.
"What do you think he'll say?"
Leslie took her two hands and drew her towards him.
"Dearest," he said, "your father and I are going to be great friends."
She looked up into his strong, kind face. Then she gave a little happy laugh.
"George," she said, "I'm glad you've got a chin like that. It makes me feel so safe.”