“You go in first, my dear,” he said, in a tone of command. “I’ll just smoke a cigarette, on that seat, with Olwen, and then we’ll come. Don’t sit too far in. But we’ll find you. It won’t be crowded. Oh, we’ll easily find you! But Olwen and I have a very important secret we want to talk about.”

He gave her a reassuring little push, half-playful, half-paternal, and watched her figure vanish in the cool dimness of the nave.

Olwen positively danced with glee as they moved across to a vacant seat under a yew-tree, not far from the grotesque little statue of the poet-courtier.

“She thought we were going to talk about her presents , didn’t she?” said the little girl, as they sat down and he lit a cigarette. “But we’re not, are we, Wolf?”

“Perhaps I am,” he replied with a smile. “But how do you like all this marrying, Olwen?”