‘Personally, I’m scared to death,’ said Gene.

Guy, still taking sight through the rear window and feeling important in the role of detective on guard, said with fake calm, ‘I don’t think that was his horn just now. These Conquerors got a whale of a lot of power — more’n your Triumph, I believe.’

Annabel hooted hysterically.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Howard was stolid and disapproving.

‘Oh, darling! Don’t you SEE? A curse on both your supply houses! Howardeo Montague Triumph and Annabel Capulet Conqueror!’

‘I don’t get that. Explain it to me afterwards, when I’m not so busy,’ said Howard.

Annabel, with a small sound like a moan, looked closely at him and, no longer speaking, leaned forward, chin in hand.

The parsonage in Patchin, which was half suburb to Sachem and half country village, was a white box, more porch than house.

Sara had imagined aloud: ‘The preacher will be a sweet old soul with spectacles, and his wife will be a dumpling, and they’ll both be colossal bores. They’ll kiss everybody that doesn’t skip fast, and tell you two idiots to try to stand for each other, which is plainly unreasonable.’

But the minister and his wife, who came worrying out on to the porch as soon as the car hooted, were a timid, awkward pair, nearly as young as Howard and Annabel, though they possessed a pair of twins, whom they introduced as Abner and Bernice and sent protesting up to bed. They seemed more frightened about the marriage than did the brazen principals, and the pastor’s lady begged them all to have ‘just a bite to eat — just a little something — maybe some nice fresh doughnuts.’

She did kiss Annabel, and tenderly, but after looking Sara, Guy and Eugene over with anxiety, dismissed them as one of those accidents that just will happen.

The scanty living-room could not have been changed much since 1890. It still displayed a parlour organ and a brocade table-cover with ball fringes. On hanging shelves were the little pastor’s books, each volume painstakingly covered with oilcloth.

‘This isn’t a wedding! Didn’t I say it was just a play!’ Annabel whispered to Howard, as they lined up.

‘Bell, you must stop and realize that this is a very solemn moment in the lives of both of us,’ he began, and she cut it short with ‘You’re telling ME?’ as the little pastor quavered, ‘If you please now!’

Hearing an entirely illegitimate sound above them, Annabel looked up and discovered that the pastor’s twins were peering down at the enchanted mystery through the hot-air register in the ceiling, vigorously pushing each other and commenting, ‘She’s kind of a nice-looking lady. I bet she paid anyways five dollars for that hat. What do they want to get married for? Hey, quit shoving me!’

She wanted to laugh, but she grew sober as she understood that the pastor was cutting her off from all the white, shy, maiden life she had known, with the timid solemnity of his question, ‘Do you take this man to be your lawful husband?’