“Father,” she said, “I don’t think that you ever met my husband, though I daresay you know him by sight as well as he knows you. Jack, this is my father.” He looked at her and then at him. His mouth was very tightly closed. He stood quite a yard away from them and ignored Jack’s very cordial salutation. “You must forgive these light-headed young people, Mr. Wadhurst,” said Mrs. Wingfield the elder. “But it was really very naughty of them to take the law into their own hands and get married by a registrar instead of going properly to the church.” “Married!” said the churchwarden. “Married within three months of the death of her husband! You did well to do it in that hole-and-corner way; for you knew me too well to hope that I would give my consent.” “That’s quite true,” said she. “But I told you long ago that I had made up my mind that a woman’s marriage is her own affair, not her father’s. I had one experience of the union that receives the blessing of the father and the blessing of the Church.” He looked at her. His mouth was tightly shut once again. “Look here, Mr. Wadhurst,” cried Jack. “We’re just going in to lunch. If you didn’t give your consent to our marriage, you have still time to give us your blessing. Hurry up. The lobsters in the dining-room will be becoming anxious.” He still kept his eyes fixed upon his daughter. He did not seem to hear Jack speaking. But the moment that Jack had said his last word, Mr. Wadhurst glanced at him, and then, turning round, walked straight across the lawn. They watched him in silence until he became occulted by the pavilion. “The lobsters will be getting impatient,” said Jack, helping his mother to her feet. CHAPTER XXII