What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles. ‘You don’t believe her?’ ‘My dear Major Alderley, I do not know her,’ Mrs Sindlesham pointed out. We thought of starting in half an hour’s time, and trying for a theatre somewhere on the way. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. I ought to be able to think things out.
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