What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose.
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