“Where is Mr Breen?” demanded Deb.

“Waiting at his house—­waiting for me—­”

“I must send for him.”

“Oh, Deb, not now, when everything is settled, and they have had all the expense and trouble—­”

“Will you fetch him, Rose, if I let you go?  For one minute only.  No, I won’t stop it.  I can’t, of course; but I must go with you, Rose—­I must.”

“Oh, Debbie, would you?  Oh, how I wish I had known before!  Yes, I’ll run and bring him.  We must drive faster, that’s all.  Oh, Deb, how happy this will make us!  But—­”

“Run away and fetch him—­ask him, with my compliments if he will be so good—­and I will get my hat on while you are gone.”

How she managed it was a mystery, but by the time the bridegroom appeared, Deb was in her best walking costume, hatted and veiled, with a pair of new pale-coloured gloves in her hand.

“Mr Breen,” said she, grave and stately, “I am going to ask a favour of you.  Allow me to take my sister to the church and give her away.”

Peter was naturally flurried, besides being a trifle overawed.  He mumbled something to the effect that he was sure his family would be “quite agreeable”, and that his sister would give up her place in the carriage and go by train; and Deb, facing him with the air of a duchess, thought how thoroughly “shoppy” his manner was.  His splendid new clothes helped to give her that impression.  Fine dressing was one of the Breens’ trifling errors of taste (as drapers) which damned them in her eyes.  But what would she have thought if he had not done all honour to his bride in this respect?

“We will go by train,” said she decisively.  “I have already delayed you a little, and you must be there first.  The train will be quicker than driving, so that we shall be quite in time.”  She smiled as she caught his swift glance of alarm at Rose.  “No, I am not going to kidnap her; I only wish to observe the proprieties a little—­for her sake.”

“If the proprieties have not been observed,” retorted Peter, suddenly bold, “it has not been all my fault, Miss Pennycuick.”  “Perhaps not,” she said gently, for she was a generous woman—­“perhaps not.  At any rate,” holding out her hand, “we must let bygones be bygones now.  Be good to her—­that is all I ask.”  Peter seized her hand in his superfine glove, and wrung it emotionally, while Rose embraced her sister’s left arm and kissed her sleeve.  Then, after a hurried consultation of timetables, the bridegroom retired, and was presently seen to clatter past the house in the bridal carriage, which had white horses to it, to Deb’s disgust.

She and Rose talked little on their journey.  Rose was questioned about clothes and pocket-money, and asked whether she had a safe pocket anywhere.  On Rose answering that she had, Deb pressed into it a closed envelope, which she charged her sister not to open until away on her honeymoon.  Rose disobeyed the order, and found a hastily scrawled cheque for one hundred pounds—­money which she knew could ill be spared.