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"What the devil's that?" asked Sypher, startled. "That," said Septimus mildly, "is an invention. I pull the rope and a pistol is fired off in the kitchen. Wiggleswick says he can't hear bells. What's for breakfast?" he asked, as Wiggleswick entered. "Haddock. And the bath's running over." Septimus waved him away. "Let it run." He turned to Sypher. "Have a haddock?"
"I've always thought it such a silly name." "You would tie yourself for life to a girl who has disgraced herself, just for the sake of shielding her?" "Why, it's done every day," said Septimus. "Is it? Oh, God! You poor innocent!" and she broke down again. "There, there," said Septimus kindly, patting her shoulder. "It's all settled, isn't it? We can get married by special license quite soon.
You couldn't expect a woman like Zora Middlemist to fail in her duty, could you?" Sypher rubbed his eyes, as if he saw things mistily. But they were quite clear. It was really Septimus Dix who sat opposite, concentrating his discursive mind on Sypher's Cure and implicitly denying Zora's faith.
The sight of Septimus hobnobbing with a Zouave outside a humble wine merchant's had drawn from him the exclamation of surprise. Septimus jumped to his feet. "My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you. Won't you sit down and join us? Have a drink." Sypher took off his gray Homburg hat for a moment, and wiped a damp forehead. "Whew!
If it's anything to do with Septimus," she added in her unwisdom and with a charming proprietary smile, "why, I can make him do whatever I like." "Even if we had quarreled," cried Emmy, losing control of her prudence, "do you suppose I would let you bring him back to me?" "But why not?" "Have you been so blind all this time as not to see?"
At one end of the path, which was worn smooth by the Reverend Septimus Marvin's pensive foot, the gleam of a white dress betrayed the presence of his niece, Miriam Liston. "Ah, is that you?" asked the rector, holding out a limp hand. "Yes. I remember Sep was allowed to sit up till half-past eight in the hope that you might come round to see us. Well, Loo, and how are you? Yes yes."
For he was ill-dressed and ill-shorn, with straggling grey hair hanging to his collar. He had a musty look, such as a book may have that is laid on a shelf in a deserted room and never opened or read. Septimus Marvin, the world would say, had been laid upon a shelf when he was inducted to the spiritual cure of Farlingford. But no man is ever laid on a shelf by Fate.
"To-morrow morning I will see to it." The Reverend Septimus Marvin had lost his wife five years earlier. It was commonly said that he had never been the same man since. Which was untrue. Much that is commonly said will, on investigation, be found to be far from the truth. Septimus Marvin had, so to speak, been the same man since infancy.
She turned an appealing glance to Septimus. "Did I say anything silly?" When he told her that she had slipped over the arm of the chair without a word, she looked relieved and closed her eyes. As soon as she had revived sufficiently she allowed herself to be led up-stairs; but before going she pressed Septimus's hand with feverish significance.
As usual, many eyes were turned on her as she entered the restaurant a radiant figure in white, with black hat and black chiffon boa, and a deep red rose in her bosom. The maître d'hôtel, in the pride of reflected glory, conducted her to a table near the window. Septimus trailed inconclusively behind.
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