‘I said I would never interfere,’ I began weakly.

‘It isn’t a question of interfering,’ he broke in, ’but only a matter of advising what you think is right or wrong.’

I hesitated, feeling the responsibility keenly.  It is true that I am accustomed to giving advice on these delicate matters.  In my capacity of writer on the Woman’s Page I often discuss affairs of the heart, getting much correspondence on the subject and (if a stamped addressed envelope is enclosed) giving unsparing help and assistance to perplexed lovers.  But this case seemed entirely different.  It lacked any element of the frivolous.  I knew that Manor’s whole happiness depended on my answer.

Supposing I suggested that the marriage should go on and afterwards the couple turned out to be totally unsuited, what a serious situation I should have created.  As a matter of fact, I more than once suspected that they were incompatibles, but hoped that they would ultimately accommodate themselves to each other.  If, however, they did not, I should be confronted with the spectacle of two most excellent people (apart) being thoroughly unhappy (together) for the remainder of their lives.  I shivered before the prospect, and was on the point of telling William that I would never advise a union to take place unless there was perfect understanding and sympathy between a couple, when he spoke again.

‘It’s just at the last minute all these doubts have assailed me,’ he explained.  ’I didn’t realize before how serious a thing marriage is—­how irrevocable.’

In a flash Elizabeth’s words came into my mind.  I recalled her references to men who get in a ‘funk’ and want to stop proceedings on the eve of the wedding, and then I saw the whole thing.  William was that sort of man.  I had an instinctive idea just then that no matter who he was going to marry he would have come to me at the eleventh hour with the same bewildered demand for advice.

In that moment I decided to trust to Elizabeth.  She seems to have a rude knowledge of life which is almost uncanny at times, but entirely convincing.  She has, as it were, a way of going to the heart of things and straightway extracting truth.  I felt just then that I could depend on her judgment.

‘William,’ I said, looking at him steadily in the eye, ’you want my candid opinion?’

‘I do,’ he replied fervently.

’Then I advise you to go on with the marriage.  I have weighed it all up, and I feel it is for the best.’

He wrung my hand silently, and then he rose.  ‘Thank you,’ he said, ’I am sure you are always right.’  I thought I detected a note of relief in his voice.  Man is a perplexing creature.

The next day Marion came to me overjoyed.  ‘It’s all right, dear,’ she announced.  ’William wants to get married at once.  Netta, you are wonderful—­how did you do it?  What did you say to him?’

‘Never mind,’ I said, trying to look enigmatical and rather enjoying Marion’s respectful admiration of my wondrous powers, ’all’s well that ends well . . . ask Elizabeth if it isn’t,’ I added as that worthy lurched in with the tea-tray.