Mr. Priestley looked at Laura. Undoubtedly she was just as bewildered at seeing their escort as himself. She did not look very pleased either. Laura did not often blush, but she was making up for lost time now. The party trooped inside. And there Mr. Priestley and his Laura were, without a shadow of doubt, married as tightly as the law could do it. “I’ve booked a private room and something in the way of a wedding-breakfast at the Trafalgar Square Hotel, Priestley,” said Guy, amid the back-clapping and kissing later, as Mr. Priestley was wondering dazedly whether he ought to smack Dora on the back and kiss Pat Doyle, or smack Cynthia on the back and kiss the registrar. “You take Laura along in a taxi, and we’ll follow.” Somehow this seemed to happen. “God bless my soul!” said Mr. Priestley, still dazed. “The idiots!” said Laura, half-way between laughter and tears. Mr. Priestley nerved himself for his effort. He knew that the truth was bound to come out at the hotel, and he wanted to know his fate in private. “Laura, my darling,” be began very nervously, “I’m afraid I have a confession to make. I—I——” To his surprise he found further speech stopped by two soft lips, not his own. “I know all about that,” came a laughing voice through the soft lips. “And I love you all the more for it, you funny old thing! (Did you know I loved you, by the way? Well, I do. I discovered it this morning.) You see, I got a letter from Cynthia to-day.” “God bl—— Did you really?” “Yes, and she told me everything, not omitting her own advice to you yesterday. She said she thought after all that she’d better warn me, just in case you did take it. But she never said she was going to bring the whole lot of them along, just in case, too.” “Cynthia,” said Mr. Priestley thoughtfully, “seems to have been double-crossing everybody.” It was an echo of the late Mr. Mullins, recently defunct. “Then let’s double-cross her!” cried Laura, with sudden inspiration. “Let’s go straight back home, pack your bag (mine’s packed already) and go off for a honeymoon at once, instead of that wedding-breakfast and all their silly jokes.” Mr. Priestley looked at his wife with speechless admiration. Then he recovered himself and leaned perilously out to address the driver. “Mr. Priestley,” said Laura, when her husband had returned to safety and her side, “don’t you think it’s time you kissed your wife? It’s the right thing to do in the taxi after the wedding, I’ve always understood.” She looked at him laughingly, but there was a faint flush on either cheek which Mr. Priestley found quite incredibly adorable. “Say: ‘Mrs. Priestley, may I beg the favour, madam, of a caress, an it please you?’” “‘Mrs. Priestley,’” replied her husband in tones of awe. “‘_Mrs._ Priestley!’” Laura made a little movement towards him, and Mr. Priestley completely forgot the rest of his speech. It didn’t seem to matter. THE END