the sea as readily as the coin of sacred associations into Gothic ears. At least, so he afterwards said, when defending his objection to interpreting the Thames for his sister-in-law's benefit.
'What nonsense!' cried Alfred, good-humouredly. 'You know all about it—at all events, you used to. There—we've gone and let her miss Lambeth Palace! Look, dear, quick, while it's still in sight—that's where the Archbishop of Canterbury hangs out.'
'Oh,' said Gladys, 'I've heard of him.'
'And isn't that Cheyne Walk, or some such place, that we're coming to on the right there?' said Alfred.
'Yes,' said Granville, briefly; 'that's Cheyne Walk.'
Luckily the Bride asked no questions—indeed, she was inclined to be silent—for of all localities impossible to discuss with an uneducated person, Granville felt that Chelsea and Cheyne Walk were the most completely out of the question. And that the Bride was a sadly uneducated person was sufficiently clear, if only from her manner of speaking. Granville accepted the fact with creditable equanimity—he had prophesied as much—and sat down to smoke a cigarette and to
