There were no holes in his armour through which the impertinent might pry.
"Good old Benjy!" whispered young Dennant; "I say, they look a bit short of class, those Casserols." Shelton, who was acquainted with this family, smiled.

The sensuous sanctity all round had begun to influence him.

A perfume of flowers and dresses fought with the natural odour of the church; the rustle of whisperings and skirts struck through the native silence of the aisles, and Shelton idly fixed his eyes on a lady in the pew in front; without in the least desiring to make a speculation of this sort, he wondered whether her face was as charming as the lines of her back in their delicate, skin-tight setting of pearl grey; his glance wandered to the chancel with its stacks of flowers, to the grave, business faces of the presiding priests, till the organ began rolling out the wedding march.
"They're off!" whispered young Dermant.
Shelton was conscious of a shiver running through the audience which reminded him of a bullfight he had seen in Spain.

The bride came slowly up the aisle.

"Antonia will look like that," he thought, "and the church will be filled with people like this.