not suit her, that made her seem large and strange to me; she obtruded
bows and unfamiliar contours. She went through all this strange ritual
of an English wedding with a sacramental gravity that I was altogether
too young and egotistical to comprehend. It was all extraordinarily
central and important to her; it was no more than an offensive,
complicated, and disconcerting intrusion of a world I was already
beginning to criticise very bitterly, to me. What was all this fuss for?
The mere indecent advertisement that I had been passionately in love
with Marion! I think, however, that Marion was only very remotely aware
of my smouldering exasperation at having in the end behaved "nicely." I
had played--up to the extent of dressing my part; I had an admirably
cut frock--coat, a new silk hat, trousers as light as I could endure
them--lighter, in fact--a white waistcoat, night tie, light gloves.
Marion, seeing me despondent had the unusual enterprise to whisper to
me that I looked lovely; I knew too well I didn't look myself. I looked
like a special coloured supplement to Men's Wear, or The Tailor
and Cutter, Full Dress For Ceremonial Occasions. I had even the
disconcerting sensations of an unfamiliar collar. I felt lost--in
a strange body, and when I glanced down myself for reassurance, the
straight white abdomen, the alien legs confirmed that impression.

My uncle was my best man, and looked like a banker--a little banker--in
flower. He wore a white rose in his buttonhole. He wasn't, I think,
particularly talkative. At least I recall very little from him.

"George" he said once or twice, "this is a great occasion for you--a
very great occasion." He spoke a little doubtfully.

You see I had told him nothing about Marion until about a week before
the wedding; both he and my aunt had been taken altogether by surprise.