"Certainly," said Violet. "I married him there in 1895."
"Mr. Marchmont," continued the Bishop, "in whose statements, I need hardly say, I place no reliance, informed my sister that you had been married with unusual frequency; and my son tells me, also, that you've admitted to him a--er--a considerable number of--er--matrimonial alliances. Would you--er--er--consider it an intrusion on my part if I asked how many times you have been married?"
"I've had the marriage service performed over me," she replied, "thirty-seven times in four years."
Miss Matilda threw up her hands in an access of horror.
"But your husbands--" stammered his Lordship.
"I never had but one husband," she said. "And here he stands." And she took Spotts's hand in hers.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the Bishop. "You surely haven't married him thirty-seven times?"
"Yes, that is exactly the case," she returned.
"The explanation is very simple," she replied. "My husband and I are both actors. He plays the part of the hero, and I the part of the heroine. In the fifth act, after many struggles and disappointments, we're at last united. To have the marriage ceremony actually performed on the stage, or the next day at church, has always proved a great attraction to our audiences. At first I objected. But I've been informed by a competent authority in my own country that there's no canonical rule against it, and in remarrying my husband I merely renew my vows to him, and I've never once gone through the ceremony lightly or thoughtlessly. I do not defend the practice, or expect you to approve of it, and, now that you know the truth, I shouldn't think of asking you to marry us again; but I don't consider that I've done anything of which I need be ashamed."
"Dear me!" said the Bishop. "In my ecclesiastical position I can hardly approve of the course you've taken; but as a man--well, it's a great relief to me."
"I consider it a sacrilege," exclaimed Miss Matilda, "and, as I remarked to Cecil this morning, that young person leaves the palace to-day, or I do!"
"You'll naturally act as seems to you best," said her brother. "But I beg you to remember that I'm master of this house, and that this lady is my guest."
"And who, pray, will keep your house for you when I'm gone?" she snapped.