'You aren't angry?' she smiled up at Rollo. 'Angry?' He reflected. Of course, it was only reasonable that he should be a little--well, not exactly angry, but--And then for the first time it came to him that the situation was not entirely without its compensations. Until that moment he had completely forgotten Mr Galloway. 'Angry?' he said. 'Great Scott, no! Jolly glad I came back in time to get a bit of the wedding-breakfast. I want it, I can tell you. I'm hungry. Here we all are, eh? Let's enjoy ourselves. Wilson, old scout, bustle about and give us your imitation of a bridegroom mixing a "B. and S." for the best man. Mrs Wilson, if you'll look in at the theatre tomorrow you'll find one or two small wedding presents waiting for you. Three bouquets--they'll be a bit withered, I'm afraid--a bracelet, and a gold Billiken with ruby eyes. I hope he'll bring you luck. Oh, Wilson!' 'Sir?' 'Touching this little business--don't answer if it's a delicate question, but I _should_ like to know--I suppose you didn't try the schedule. What? More the Market Thingummy method, eh? The one you described to me?' 'Market Bumpstead, sir?' said Wilson. 'On those lines.' Rollo nodded thoughtfully. 'It seems to me,' he said, 'they know a thing or two down in Market Bumpstead.' 'A very rising little place, sir,' assented Wilson. SIR AGRAVAINE A TALE OF KING ARTHUR'S ROUND TABLE Some time ago, when spending a delightful week-end at the ancestral castle of my dear old friend, the Duke of Weatherstonhope (pronounced Wop), I came across an old black-letter MS. It is on this that the story which follows is based. I have found it necessary to touch the thing up a little here and there, for writers in those days were weak in construction. Their idea of telling a story was to take a long breath and start droning away without any stops or dialogue till the thing was over. I have also condensed the title. In the original it ran, '"How it came about that ye good Knight Sir Agravaine ye Dolorous of ye Table Round did fare forth to succour a damsel in distress and after divers journeyings and perils by flood and by field did win her for his bride and right happily did they twain live ever afterwards," by Ambrose ye monk.' It was a pretty snappy title for those days, but we have such a high standard in titles nowadays that I have felt compelled to omit a few yards of it. We may now proceed to the story. * * * * *