He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. The Reverend Henry Dolby performed the cermony, and his wife and daughter were witnesses. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. I have a special interest in Mary Remenham because I believe I have discovered her daughter. She gloried in it: he needed her. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. To such characters, fine actions are in themselves sufficient.
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