Just yous leave it to me, an' I'll fix yez up." Ever since Ada was a child, Mrs Yabsley had speculated on her marriage, when all the street would turn out to the wedding.

And now, after years of planning and waiting, she was to be married on the quiet, for there was nothing to boast about.
"Well, it's no use cryin' over skimmed milk," she reflected, adapting the proverb to her needs.
But she clung with obstinacy to a marriage in a church, convinced that none other was genuine.

And casting about in her mind for a parson who would marry them without fuss or expense, she remembered Trinity Church, and the thing was done.
Canon Vaughan, the new rector of Trinity Church, had brought some strange ideas from London, where he had worked in the slums.

He had founded a workman's club, and smoked his pipe with the members; formed a brigade of newsboys and riff-raff, and taught them elementary morality with the aid of boxing-gloves; and offended his congregation by treating the poor with the same consideration as themselves.

And then, astonished by the number of mothers who were not wives, that he discovered on his rounds, he had announced that he would open the church on the first Saturday night in every month to marry any couples without needless questions.