Mr. Caryll listened and watched, and he began to enjoy himself exceedingly. He had not reckoned upon so rich an entertainment when he had consented to come down to witness this odd ceremony. His sense of humor conquered every other consideration, and the circumstance that Lord Rotherby was his brother, if remembered at all, served but to add a spice to the situation. Out of sheer deviltry he waited until Mr. Jenkins had labored for a second time through the opening periods. Again he allowed him to get as far as “I charge and require you both-,” before again he interrupted him. “There is something else ye've forgot,” said he in that sweet, quiet voice of his. This was too much for Rotherby. “Damn you!” he swore, turning a livid face upon Mr. Caryll, and failed to observe that at the sound of that harsh oath and at the sight of his furious face, the lady recoiled from him, the suspicion lately in her face turning first to conviction and then to absolute horror. “I do not think you are civil,” said Mr. Caryll critically. “It was in your interests that I spoke.” “Then I'll thank you, in my interests, to hold your tongue!” his lordship stormed. “In that case,” said Mr. Caryll, “I must still speak in the interests of the lady. Since you've desired me to be a witness, I'll do my duty by you both and see you properly wed.” “Now, what the devil may you mean by that?” demanded his lordship, betraying himself more and more at every word. Mr. Jenkins, in a spasm of terror, sought to pour oil upon these waters. “My lord,” he bleated, teeth and eyeballs protruding from his pallid face. “My lord! Perhaps the gentleman is right. Perhaps--Perhaps--” He gulped, and turned to Mr. Caryll. “What is't ye think we have forgot now?” he asked. “The time of day,” Mr. Caryll replied, and watched the puzzled look that came into both their faces. “Do ye deal in riddles with us?” quoth his lordship. “What have we to do with the time of day?” “Best ask the parson,” suggested Mr. Caryll. Rotherby swung round again to Jenkins. Jenkins spread his hands in mute bewilderment and distress. Mr. Caryll laughed silently. “I'll not be married! I'll not be married!” It was the lady who spoke, and those odd words were the first that Mr. Caryll heard from her lips. They made an excellent impression upon him, bearing witness to her good sense and judgment--although belatedly aroused--and informing him, although the pitch was strained just now; that the rich contralto of her voice was full of music. He was a judge of voices, as of much else besides. “Hoity-toity!” quoth his lordship, between petulance and simulated amusement. “What's all the pother? Hortensia, dear--” “I'll not be married!” she repeated firmly, her wide brown eyes meeting his in absolute defiance, head thrown back, face pale but fearless.