“What are you going to do?” said Billie. “Where are you going?”
“To London,” said Sam. “It may be news to you but the old lawyer like myself knows that, by going to Doctors’ Commons or the Court of Arches or somewhere or by routing the Archbishop of Canterbury out of bed or something, you can get a special license and be married almost before you know where you are. My scheme—roughly—is to dig this special license out of whoever keeps such things, have a bit of breakfast, and then get married at our leisure before lunch at a registrar’s.”
“Oh, not a registrar’s!” said Billie.
“No?”
“I should hate a registrar’s.”
“Very well, angel. Just as you say. We’ll go to a church. There are millions of churches in London. I’ve seen them all over the place.” He mused for a moment. “Yes, you’re quite right,” he said. “A church is the thing. It’ll please Webster.”
“Webster?”
“Yes, he’s rather keen on the church bells never having rung out so blithe a peal before. And we must consider Webster’s feelings. After all, he brought us together.”
“Webster? How?”
“Oh, I’ll tell you all about that some other time,” said Sam. “Just for the moment I want to sit quite still and think. Are you comfortable? Fine! Then off we go.”
The birds in the trees fringing the road stirred and twittered grumpily as the noise of the engine disturbed their slumbers. But, if they had known it, they were in luck. At any rate, the worst had not befallen them, for Sam was too happy to sing.