CAPT. G. (_Rubbing the ink into his glove._) Eh! Wha--at? CAPT. M. (_Taking one pace to Bride._) If you don't, I shall. CAPT. G. (_Interposing an arm._) Not this journey! _General kissing, in which_ CAPT. G. _is pursued by unknown female._ CAPT. G. (_Faintly to_ M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now? CAPT. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask _Missis_ Gadsby. CAPT. G. _winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake._ CAPT. M. (_At table._) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech. CAPT. G. (_After three minutes' agony._) Ha-hmmm. (_Thunders of applause._) CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit while Mamma is weeping over--'the Missus.' (CAPT. G. _disappears._ CAPT. M. _starts up tearing his hair._) It's not _half_ legal. Where are the shoes? Get an _ayah._ AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone _band karo_ all the _jutis._ CAPT. M. (_Brandishing scabbarded sword._) Woman, produce those shoes! Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn't crack Gaddy's head more than it is. (_Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his sleeve._) Where is the Bride? (_To the company at large._) Be tender with that rice. It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag. _Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs towards the sunset._ CAPT. M. (_In the open._) Stole away, by Jove! So much, the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdheran! Where's your horse? CAPT. G. (_Furiously, seeing that the women are out of earshot._) Where the ---- is my _Wife?_ CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young Lochinvar. _Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him._ CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get round, you brute-you hog-you beast! Get _round!_ _Wrenches horse's head over, nearly breaking lower jaw; swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna._ CAPT. M. For your life and your love--ride, Gaddy!--And God bless you! _Throws half a pound of rice at G., who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust._ CAPT. M. I've lost old Gaddy. (_Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently_):-- 'You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred!' MISS DEERCOURT. (_From her horse._) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite! CAPT. M. (_Aside._) They say marriage is like cholera. 'Wonder who'll be the next victim. _White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering._ THE GARDEN OF EDEN And ye shall be as--Gods!