“Thank you,” I said, “I’m needing a bit of a stretch and a breeze-out.” I wished to walk that I might the better meditate. With Belknap-Jackson one does not sufficiently meditate. A block up from the station I was struck by the sight of the Honourable George. Plodding solitary down that low street he was, heeled as usual by the Judson cur. He came to the Spilmer public house and for a moment stared up, quite still, at the “Last Chance” on its chaffing signboard. Then he wheeled abruptly and entered. I was moved to follow him, but I knew it would never do. He would row me about the service of the Grill--something of that sort. I dare say he had fancied her ladyship as keenly as one of his volatile nature might. But I knew him! Back on our street the festival atmosphere still lingered. Groups of recent guests paused to discuss the astounding event. The afternoon paper was being scanned by many of them. An account of the wedding was its “feature,” as they say. I had no heart for that, but on the second page my eye caught a minor item: “A special meeting of the Ladies Onwards and Upwards Club is called for to-morrow afternoon at two sharp at the residence of Mrs. Dr. Percy Hailey Martingale, for the transaction of important business.” One could fancy, I thought, what the meeting would discuss. Nor was I wrong, for I may here state that the evening paper of the following day disclosed that her ladyship the Countess of Brinstead had unanimously been elected to a life honorary membership in the club. Back in the Grill I found the work of clearing the tables well advanced, and very soon its before-dinner aspect of calm waiting was restored. Surveying it I reflected that one might well wonder if aught momentous had indeed so lately occurred here. A motley day it had been. I passed into the linen and glass pantry. Mrs. Judson, polishing my glassware, burst into tears at my approach, frankly stanching them with her towel. I saw it to be a mere overflow of the meaningless emotion that women stock so abundantly on the occasion of a wedding. She is an almost intensely feminine person, as can be seen at once by any one who understands women. In a goods box in the passage beyond I noted her nipper fast asleep, a mammoth beef-rib clasped to its fat chest. I debated putting this abuse to her once more but feared the moment was not propitious. She dried her eyes and smiled again. “A prince in his palace,” she murmured inanely. “She thought first he was going to be as funny as the other one; then she found he wasn’t. I liked him, too. I didn’t blame her a bit. He’s one of that kind--his bark’s worse than his bite. And to think you knew all the time what was coming off. My, but you’re the Mr. Deep-one!” I saw no reason to stultify myself by denying this. I mean to say, if she thought it, let her! “The last thing yesterday she gave me this dress.”