‘Who won the race, Lupton?’ he called to the bridegroom, to hide the fact that he was laughing.

The bridegroom took his cigar from his mouth.

‘The race?’ he exclaimed. Then a rather thin smile came over his face. He did not want to say anything about the flight to the church door. ‘We got there together. At least she touched first, but I had my hand on her shoulder.’

‘What’s this?’ asked Gerald.

Birkin told him about the race of the bride and the bridegroom.

‘H’m!’ said Gerald, in disapproval. ‘What made you late then?’

‘Lupton would talk about the immortality of the soul,’