The funny thing about it was that it turned out to be so easy. We saw some startled faces, to be sure, and the name Applebury went off, as it were, now and then by mistake. But in the main you wouldn’t have known, unless you’d listened to private conversations more closely than one does at a lawn party, that the earth was rocking, or that the stars were about to fall. People chatted, admired the bride, congratulated the groom, ate enthusiastically at the tables grouped around the marquee on the lawn, danced on the canvas that had been stretched over the tennis court--and took their leave. There was nothing much else, when you come to think of it, that they could have done. The only unnatural thing about their behavior was the way they departed. Once people had started to go there was a rather panicky sort of rush--like the going-out of the tides of Fundy. It must have been felt that it would be disastrous to be the last one there. By half past six on that lovely June afternoon the lawns were deserted. Well, I don’t believe any one was sorry. Judy dropped down beside me upon a settee. She’d been looking lovely all the afternoon, I thought, the simplicity of her going-away clothes showing in agreeable contrast to the magnificence of the older women, but now it was over she was white and limp, for the moment an orthodox bride. “Do you remember when this day began?” she asked. “I’m so tired I can’t.” “Don’t try,” I advised her. “It isn’t necessary. It’s all--come out in the wash just as you said it would. There’s nothing more you even need think about, let alone do.” Victoria, still wearing the necklace, was strolling by with Bill. Punch, very casually, followed along behind. “I know what she’s saying to him,” Judy remarked. “She was talking to me about it just now. She wants to know where we’re going--on our wedding trip. She seems to think we’ve got to go somewhere now, to-night--if only to a hotel in town. In order to be--decent, you know.” “I’ll tell you where you can go if you don’t want to do that,” I said. “Go down to my cottage. Just walk off, the two of you, now, any time you like.” “Oh, you darling!” she cried, and put her head down on my shoulder with something like a sob of relief. “Do you mean we can stay there?” “As long as you like,” I told her. “I got things ready, more or less, on the chance, when I went home to lunch. I’ll get Mrs. Corbin to take me in up here. You’ll find enough to eat to last you till Monday, anyhow.” “Your nice little house,” she murmured, “--that I thought I was going to be married in. But this is better.” She sprang up, all trace of fatigue gone. “Bill,” she called. Victoria followed them into the house. Punch dropped down beside me.