membered that night with unalloyed shame. He saw himself as he
stood there, primped to kill, like a prize bull at a fair, bellowing
out a mawkish sentiment in a stilted voice, and he wondered how the
Ridge ever managed to endure him afterwards.

But this is a charitable world, and his temperament was such that he
did not realize that no one paid much attention to him, after the real
ceremony started. When the bride and the bridesmaid came down the
aisle, Nellie Logan radiant in the gown which every woman in the
church knew had come from Chicago and had been bought of the drummer
at wholesale cost, saving the bride over fifteen dollars on the
regular price--what did the guests care for a dapper little man
singing a hymn tune through his nose, even if he was the richest young
man in town? And when Molly Culpepper--dear little Molly
Culpepper--came after the bride, blushing through her powder, and
looking straight at the floor for fear her eyes would wander after her
heart and wondering if the people knew--it was of no consequence that
John Barclay's voice frazzled on "F"; for if the town wished to notice
a man at that wedding, there was Watts McHurdie in a paper collar,
with a white embroidered bow tie and the first starched shirt the town
had ever seen him wear, badly out of step with the procession, while
the best man dragged him like an unwilling victim to the altar; and of
course there was the best man,--and a handsome best man as men
go,--fair-skinned, light-haired, blue-eyed, with a good glow on his
immobile face and rather sad eyes that, being in a man's head, went
boldly where they chose and where all the women in the town could see
them go. So there were other things to remember that night besides
John Barclay's singing and the festive figure he cut at that wedding:
there was the wedding supper at the Wards', and the wedding reception
at the Culpeppers', and after it all the dance in Culpepper Hall. And
all the town remembers these things, but only two people remember a
moment after the reception when every one was hurrying away to the
dance and when the bridesmaid--such a sweet, pretty little
bridesmaid--was standing alone in a deserted room with a tall
groomsman--just for a moment--just for a moment before Adrian
Brownwell came up bustling and bristling, but long enough to say,
"Bob--did you take my gloves there in the carriage as we were coming
home from the church?" and long enough for him to answer, "Why, di