Godfrey would have liked to go to Lucerne and visit the Pasteur, but as this could not be managed in war time, suggested London.
"Why London ?" exclaimed Isobel.
"Only because most ladies like theatres, though I confess I hate them myself." "You silly man," she answered.

"Do you suppose, when we can have only a few days together, that I want to waste time in theatres ?" In the end it was settled that they would go to London for a night, and then on to Cornwall, which they hoped fondly might be warm at that time of year.
So at last, on the twenty-fourth day of December of that fateful year 1914, they were married in the Abbey Church.

Isobel's uncle, the one with whom she had stayed in Mexico, and who had retired now from the Diplomatic Service, gave her away, and a young cousin of hers was the sole bridesmaid, for the ceremony was of the sort called a "war wedding." Her dress, however, was splendid of its kind, some rich thing of flowing broidered silk with a veil of wondrous lace.
Either from accident or by design, in general effect it much resembled that of the Plantagenet lady which once she had copied from the brass.
Perhaps, being dissatisfied with her former effort, she determined to recap it on a more splendid scale, or perhaps it was a chance.

At any rate, the veil raised in two points from her head, fell down like that of the nameless lady, while from her elbows long narrow sleeves hung almost to the ground.

Beautiful Isobel never was, but in this garb, with happiness shining in her eyes, her tall, well-made form looked imposing and even stately, an effect that was heightened by her deliberate and dignified movements.