dismally, ‘Yes, Honoria—I’m getting very old, and my bones ache. My sins are deserting me, and if I could only have my time over again I’d take care to commit more of them. Confound Peter! Il ne sait pas vivre. Mais je voudrais bien être dans ses draps. ’ ‘You’ll be in your own winding-sheet soon,’ I said, very crossly: ‘no wonder Peter calls you Uncle Pandarus, you evil old wretch.’ Paul said, ‘Well, you can’t deny I had him taught his job, and he’s no disgrace to either of us.’ There was no answer to that, so I came away.... Tried The Stars Look Down again, and found it full of most unpleasant people.... The fact is, one never really visualises one’s own son.... But I needn’t have been so cross with Paul.
7 October.— Harriet came to see me before starting for Oxford—very nice to me. I think she will give Peter all he wants—yes, I really do. If anybody can.... Felt depressed, all the same, for nearly half an hour.... Later on, while coping with preparations for wedding-breakfast—all made more difficult by need for secrecy—interrupted by Peter on phone, gone suddenly all fractious because it had rained in the night and roads would be slippery, and convinced Harriet would have a skid and be killed on way to Oxford. Begged him not to behave like a half-wit and said, if he wanted healthy occupation he could come and help Emily wash all the ornaments out of drawing-room cabinets. He didn’t come—but Jerry did, in high spirits at idea of being best man, and broke a Dresden shepherdess.
Later.— Peter and Jerry got (thank goodness!) safely out of the way to Oxford. Preparations completed and all wished-for guests summoned and transport arranged for the impecunious.... In evening, furious trunk-call from Helen at Denver, having had wire from Peter and demanding what we meant by inconsiderate behaviour. Took great pleasure in telling her (at considerable length and her expense) nothing to thank but her own tactlessness.
8 October.— Peter’s wedding-day. Too exhausted to do more than put down that it all went off very well. H. looked genuinely lovely, like a ship coming into harbour with everything shining and flags flying at wherever modern ships do fly flags—Peter terribly white, poor darling, like the day he had his first watch, and could hardly bear himself for fear it would come to pieces in his hands or turn out not to be real, or something—but he pulled himself together to be specially nice to all the guests (believe if he were in Inquisition he would exert social talents to entertain executioners). ... Got back to Town at 5.30 (Peter’s face a study when he realised he had to go 60 miles over crowded roads in a closed car with somebody else driving!—but one really couldn’t let him drive H. back in the open Daimler, all in wedding-garments and a top-hat!).... Got them smuggled out of the house at a quarter to 7—Bunter was waiting for them with the car on the far side of the Park....
11 p.m. Hope all is really well with them—must stop now and try to get some sleep or shall be a rag in the morning. Find The Stars Look Down not quite soothing enough for a bed-book—will fall back on Through the Looking-Glass.
Chapter I. New-Wedded Lord
“I agree with Dryden, that ‘Marriage is a noble daring’—”
SAMUEL JOHNSON: Table Talk.
Mr Mervyn Bunter, patiently seated in the Daimler on the far side of Regent’s Park, reflected that time was getting on. Packed in eiderdowns in the back of the car was a case containing two and a half dozen of vintage port, and he was anxious about it. Great speed would render the wine undrinkable for a fortnight; excessive speed would render it undrinkable for six months. He was anxious about the arrangements—or the lack of them—at Talboys. He hoped everything would be found in good order when they arrive—otherwise, his lady and gentleman might get nothing to eat till goodness