You see," said Septimus confidentially, "marriage has been out of my line.

But perhaps you have been married, and might be able to tell me." "Look here, sir," said the policeman, eyeing him kindly, but officially.
"Take my advice, sir; don't think of getting married.

You go home to your friends." The policeman nodded knowingly and stalked away, leaving Septimus perplexed by his utterance.

Was he a Socrates of a constable with a Xantippe at home, or did he regard him as a mild lunatic at large?
Either solution was discouraging.

He turned and walked back down Holborn somewhat dejected.
Somewhere in London the air was thick with special licenses, but who would direct his steps to the desired spot?
On passing Gray's Inn one of his brilliant ideas occurred to him.