So, on the sixteenth of June at Leicester Bram and Nancy were married. The ceremony achieved, they went for a long drive in a fly through the not very beautiful Leicestershire country and arrived back at Michael O’Finn’s lodgings about five o’clock to announce the state of affairs at the favourable hour when he should be digesting his dinner over a cigar. It was the last evening of the tour and _Twelfth Night_ was in the bill, so that, if he should go out and get drunk before the performance, he was less likely to disgrace himself as obviously as in any of his other parts. “Well, we’ve done it, father,” Nancy began. “Done what?” he demanded, crackling the leaves of _The Stage_ and scowling at Bram over the top of it. “We’re married. Yes, we were married in St. Aloysius’ Church this morning at twelve o’clock. There’s nothing to be done about it, father.” “Nothing to be done about it?” repeated O’Finn. “There is a very great deal to be done. Come to my arms, my beloved child. Weep upon my shoulder in the excess of your new-found happiness. Weep, I say. Spare not one single tear. Weep, weep. Young man, give me your hand. I have entrusted you with the guardianship of the being I hold most sacred of earth’s creatures. Honour that trust, young man. Rejoice a father’s heart by your devotion. God bless you both, my children. And now let us make arrangements to celebrate this auspicious event by a supper to our friends and intimates at that best of hostelries, the old ‘Blue Boar.’ There is not a moment to be lost. Mine host will want to make his arrangements with the authorities for an extension of the license to some seasonable small hour that will suitably hallow the occasion. I will leave you here to bill and coo. Did you see what _The Stage_ said about my Tranio this week? Read it, my boy. You’ll be delighted with the way the notice is written. Judicial—very, very judicial.” With this O’Finn, humming the _Wedding March_ in his rich bass, left the newly wed pair to themselves. “Well, I’m bothered,” Bram gasped. “He’s completely turned round.” “I rather thought he would,” Nancy said. “I’ve never known him refuse a fat part. He was getting tired of gloom.” When Nancy and Bram went down to the theatre that night, O’Finn met them at the stage-door, beaming with good-will.