"I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted when the best man
said, 'I can't find it, old horse!'"
EPILOGUE
Argument. From the Morning Post: "…and graceful, wore a simple gown of stiff satin and old lace, and a heavy lace veil fell in soft folds over the shimmering skirt. A reception was subsequently held by Mrs. O'Brien, aunt of the bride, at her house in Ennismore Gardens."
IN THE SERVANTS' HALL
The Cook.
…And as pretty a wedding, Mr. Hill, as ever I did see.
The Butler.
Indeed, Mrs. Minchley? And how did our niece look?
The Cook
(closing her eyes in silent rapture). Well, there! That lace! (In a burst of ecstacy.) Well, there!! Words can't describe it, Mr. Hill."
The Butler.
Indeed, Mrs. Minchley?
The Cook.
And Miss Phyllis—Mrs. Garnet, I should say—she was as calm as calm. And looking beautiful as—well, there! Now, Mr. Garnet, he did look nervous, if you like, and when the best man—such a queer-looking awkward man, in a frock coat that I wouldn't have been best man at a wedding in—when he lost the ring and said—quite loud, everybody could hear him—"I can't find it, old horse!" why I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted away, and so I said to Jane, as was sitting beside me. But he found it at the last moment, and all went on as merrily, as you may say, as a wedding bell.
Jane
(sentimentally). Reely, these weddings, you know, they do give you a sort of feeling, if you catch my meaning, Mrs. Minchley.
The Butler
(with the air of a high priest who condescends for once to unbendand frolic with lesser mortals). Ah! it'll be your turn next, Miss Jane.
Jane
(who has long had designs on this dignified bachelor). Oh, Mr. Hill, reely! You do poke your fun.
[Raises her eyes to his, and drops them swiftly, leaving him with a pleasant sensation of having said a good thing particularly neatly, and a growing idea that he might do worse than marry Jane, take a nice little house in Chelsea somewhere, and let lodgings. He thinks it over.
Tilby
(a flighty young person who, when she has a moment or two to spare from the higher flirtation with the local policeman, puts in a little light work about the bedrooms). Oh, I say, this'll be one in the eye for Riggetts, pore little feller. (Assuming an air of advanced melodrama.) Ow! She 'as forsiken me! I'll go and blow me little 'ead off with a blunderbuss! Ow that one so fair could be so false!
Master Thomas Riggetts
(the page boy, whose passion for the lady who has just become Mrs. Garnet has for many months been a byword in the servants' hall). Huh! (To himself bitterly.) Tike care, tike care, lest some day you drive me too far. [Is left brooding darkly.
UPSTAIRS
The Bride.
…Thank you.…Oh, thank you.…Thank you so much.…Thank you so much…oh, thank you.…Thank you.…Thank you so much.
The Bridegroom.
Thanks.…Oh, thanks.…Thanks awf'lly.…Thanks awf'lly.…Thanks awf'lly.…Oh, thanks awf'lly…(with a brilliant burst of invention, amounting almost to genius) Thanks frightfully.
The Bride
(to herself, rapturously). A-a-a-h!
The Bridegroom
(dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief during a lull). I shall drop.
The Best Man
(appearing suddenly at his side with a glass). Bellows to mend, old horse, what? Keep going. You're doing fine. Bless you. Bless you.
[Drifts away.
Elderly Stranger
(to bridegroom). Sir, I have jigged your wife on my knee.
The Bridegroom
(with absent politeness). Ah! Lately?
Elderly Stranger.
When she was a baby, sir.
The Bridegroom
(from force of habit). Oh, thanks. Thanks awf'lly.
The Bride
(to herself). Why can't one get married every day!…(catching sight of a young gentleman whose bi-weekly conversation with her in the past was wontto consist of two remarks on the weather and one proposal of marriage). Oh! Oh, what a shame inviting poor little Freddy Fraddle! Aunt Kathleen must have known! How could she be so cruel! Poor little fellow, he must be suffering dreadfully!
Poor Little Freddy Fraddle
(addressing his immortal soul as he catches sight of the bridegroom, with a set smile on his face, shaking hands with an obvious bore). Poor devil, poor, poor devil! And to think that I—! Well, well! There but for the grace of God goes Frederick Fraddle.
The Bridegroom
(to the Obvious Bore). Thanks. Thanks awf'lly.
The Obvious Bore
(in measured tones).…are going, as you say, to Wales for your honeymoon, you should on no account miss the opportunity of seeing the picturesque ruins of Llanxwrg Castle, which are among the most prominent spectacles of Carnarvonshire, a county, which I understand you to say, you propose to include in your visit. The ruins are really part of the village of Twdyd-Prtsplgnd, but your best station would be Golgdn. There is a good train service to and from that spot. If you mention my name to the custodian of the ruins, he will allow you to inspect the grave of the celebrated——
Immaculate Youth
(interrupting). Hello, Garnet, old man. Don't know if you remember me. Latimer, of Oriel. I was a fresher in your third year. Gratters!
The Bridegroom
(with real sincerity for once). Thanks. Thanks awf'lly.
[They proceed to talk Oxford shop together, to the exclusion of the O. B., who glides off in search of another victim.
IN THE STREET
The Coachman
(to his horse). Kim up, then!
The Horse
(to itself). Deuce of a time these people are. Why don't they hurry. I want to be off. I'm certain we shall miss that train.
The Best Man
(to crowd of perfect strangers, with whom in some mysterious way he has managed to strike up a warm friendship). Now, then, you men, stand by. Wait till they come out, then blaze away. Good handful first shot. That's what you want.
The Cook
(in the area, toJane). Oh, I do 'ope they won't miss that train, don't you? Oh, here they come. Oh, don't Miss Phyllis—Mrs. Garnet—look—well, there. And I can remember her a little slip of a girl only so high, and she used to come to my kitchen, and she used to say, "Mrs. Minchley," she used to say—it seems only yesterday—"Mrs. Minchley, I want——"
[Left reminiscing.
The Bride
(as the page boy's gloomy eyecatches hers, "smiles as she was wont to smile").
Master Riggetts
(with a happy recollection of his latest-read work of fiction—"Sir Rupert of the Hall": Meadowsweet Library—to himself). "Good-by, proud lady. Fare you well. And may you never regret. May—you—nevorrr—regret!"
[Dives passionately into larder, and consoles himself with jam.
The Best Man
(to his gang of bravoes). Now, then, you men, bang it in.
[They bang it in.
The Bridegroom
(retrieving his hat). Oh——
[Recollects himself in time.
The Best Man.
Oh, shot, sir! Shot, indeed!
[The Bride and Bridegroom enter the carriage amid a storm of rice.
The Best Man
(coming to carriage window). Garny, old horse.
The Bridegroom.
Well?
The Best Man.
Just a moment. Look here, I've got a new idea. The best ever, 'pon my word it is. I'm going to start a duck farm and run it without water. What? You'll miss your train? Oh, no, you won't. There's plenty of time. My theory is, you see, that ducks get thin by taking exercise and swimming about and so on, don't you know, so that, if you kept them on land always, they'd get jolly fat in about half the time—and no trouble and expense. See? What? You bring the missus down there. I'll write you the address. Good-by. Bless you. Good-by, Mrs. Garnet.
The Bride and Bridegroom
(simultaneously, with a smile apiece). Good-by.
[They catch the train and live happily ever afterwards.]
