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OUR persons, a woman and three men, assembled in the insignificant hallway at the top of the steps reaching to the fifth floor of the building occupied by Deborah, Limited. To be precise, they were the butler, the parlour-maid and two austere footmen. Cricklewick was speaking.

"Marriage is a most venturesome undertaking, my dear." He addressed himself to Julia, the parlourmaid. "So don't go saying it isn't."

"I didn't say it wasn't," said Julia stoutly. "What I said was, if ever any two people were made for each other it's him and her."

"In my time," said Cricklewick, "I've seen what looked to be the most excellent matches turn out to be nothing but fizzles."

"Well, this one won't," said she.

"As I was saying to McFaddan in the back 'all a minute ago, Mr. Cricklewick, the larst weddin' of any consequence I can remember hattending was when Lady Jane's mother was married to the Earl of Wexham. I sat on the box with old 'Oppins and we ran hover a dog drivin' away from St. George's in 'Anover Square." It was Moody who spoke. He seemed to relish the memory. "It was such a pretty little dog, too. I shall never forget it." He winked at Julia.

"You needn't wink at me. Moody," said Julia. "I didn't like the little beast any more than you did."