nd even when the wedding march burst forth and I led her out of the
church. It was as though they had done their best to disguise her, to put
our union on the other-worldly plane that was deemed to be its only
justification, to neutralize her sex at the very moment it should have
been most enhanced. Well, they succeeded. If I had not been as
conventional as the rest, I should have preferred to have run away with
her in the lavender dress she wore when I first proposed to her. It was
only when we had got into the carriage and started for the house and she
turned to me her face from which the veil had been thrown back that I
realized what a sublime meaning it all had for her. Her eyes were wet.
Once more I was acutely conscious of my inability to feel deeply at
supreme moments. For months I had looked forward with anticipation and
impatience to my wedding-day.

I kissed her gently. But I felt as though she had gone to heaven, and
that the face I beheld enshrouded were merely her effigy. Commonplace
words were inappropriate, yet it was to these I resorted.

"Well--it wasn't so bad after all! Was it?"

She smiled at me.

"You don't want to take it back?"

She shook her head.

"I think it was a beautiful wedding, Hugh. I'm so glad we had a good
day."...

She seemed shy, at once very near and very remote. I held her hand
awkwardly until the carriage stopped.

A little later we were standing in a corner of the parlour, the
atmosphere of which was heavy with the scent of flowers, submitting to
the onslaught of relatives. Then came the wedding breakfast: croquettes,
champagne, chicken salad, ice-cream, the wedding-cake, speeches and more
kisses.... I remember Tom Peters holding on to both my hands.

"Good-bye, and God bless you, old boy," he was saying. Susan, in view of
the occasion, had allowed him a little more champagne than usual--enough
to betray his feelings, and I knew that these had not changed since our
college days. I resolved to see more of him. I had neglected him and
undervalued his loyalty.... He had followed me to my room in George's
house where I was dressing for the journey, and he gave it as his
deliberate judgment that in Maude I had "struck gold."

"She's just the girl for you, Hughie," he declared. "Susan thinks so,
too."

Later in the afternoon, as we sat in the state-room of the car that was
bearing us eastward, Maude began to cry. I sat looking at her helplessly,
unable to enter into her em