His was a well-cut face, clean shaven,
and strikingly manly. In one of the pews was seated a woman--I learned
afterwards she was Lady Alicia's maid, who had been instructed to come
and go from the house by a footpath, while we had taken the longer
road. I returned and escorted Lady Alicia to the church, and there was
introduced to Mr. Haddon and his friend, the made-up divine. The
ceremony was at once performed, and, man of the world as I professed
myself to be, this enacting of private theatricals in a church grated
upon me. When the maid and I were asked to sign the book as witnesses,
I said:--
'Surely this is carrying realism a little too far?'
Mr. Haddon smiled, and replied:--
'I am amazed to hear a Frenchman objecting to realism going to its
full length, and speaking for myself, I should be delighted to see the
autograph of the renowned Eugene Valmont,' and with that he proffered
me the pen, whereupon I scrawled my signature. The maid had already
signed, and disappeared. The reputed clergyman bowed us out of the
church, standing in the porch to see us walk up the avenue.
'Ed,' cried John Haddon, I'll be back within half an hour, and we'll
attend to the clock. You won't mind waiting?'
'Not in the least, dear boy.
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