-shallying," his betrothed had come out from England to marry
him. He remembered, in a queer jumble of retrospective gratitude and
impatience, how certain of the wives of his brother officers had
decorated the little plain church; and the mingled scents of the flowers
now massed about him recalled that of the orange blossoms and the
tuberoses at his own wedding.

But real as that long-vanished scene still was to Jervis's father, what
he now remembered best of all the emotions which had filled his heart as
he had stood waiting at the chancel steps for his pretty, nervous bride
were the good resolutions he had made--made and so soon broken....

As for Sir Jacques, he had never been to a wedding since he had been
last forced to do so as a boy by his determined mother. The refusal of
all marriage invitations was an eccentricity which friends and patients
easily pardoned to the successful and popular surgeon, and so the
present ceremony had the curious interest of complete novelty. He had
meant to read over the service to see what part he himself had to play,
but the morning had slipped away and he had not had time.

Jervis, in answer to perhaps the most solemn and awful question ever put
to man, had just answered fervently "I will," and Rose's response had
also been uttered very clearly, when suddenly someone gave Sir Jacques a
little prod, and the Dean, with the words, "Who giveth this woman to be
married to this man?" made him a quiet sign.

Sir Jacques came forward, and in answer, said "_I_ do," in a loud tone.
And then he saw the Dean take Jervis's right hand and place it in Rose's
left, and utter the solemn words with which even he was acquainted.

"I, Jervis, take thee, Rose, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold
from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in
sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part,
according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

A series of tremendous promises to make and to keep! But for the moment
cynicism had fallen away from Sir Jacques's heart, and somehow he felt
sure that, at any rate in this case, those tremendous promises would be
kept.

He had been afraid that the Dean would make an address, or at the least
would say a few words that would reduce some of the tiny congregation to
tears. But Dr. Haworth was too wise for that, and perhaps he knew that
nothing he could say could improve on the _Beati omnes_