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“Well, hello there. “I am so sorry. I'm a slave to my word. Spurling, drily. These festivities, however, were not witnessed by the newly-married pair, who had departed immediately after the ceremony for Manchester. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled.
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