"I'm trying to comprehend it, but I can't seem to. How soft the breeze blows! It is already spring in Stuyvesant Square."
"The Square is lovely! They will be setting out hyacinths soon, I think." She shivered. "It's strange," she said, "but I feel rather cold. Am I horridly pale, Jim?"
"You are a trifle colourless – but even prettier than I ever saw you," he whispered, turning up the collar of her fur coat around her throat. "You haven't taken cold, have you?"
"No; it is – natural – I suppose. Miracles frighten one at first."
Their eyes met; she tried to smile. After a moment he said nervously:
"I sent out the announcements. The evening papers will have them."
"I want to see them, Jim."
"You shall. I have ordered all this evening's and to-morrow morning's papers. They will be sent to Silverwood."
The car rolled up along the curb and stopped.
"Can't I take you to your office?" he whispered.
"No, dear."
She laid one slim hand on his arm and stood for a moment looking at him.
"How pale you are!" he said again, under his breath.
"Brides are apt to be. It's only a swift and confused dream to me yet – all that has happened to us to-day; and even this sunshine seems unreal – like the first day of spring in paradise!"
She bent her proud little head and stood in silence as though unseen hands still hovered above her, and unseen lips were still pronouncing her his wife. Then, lifting her eyes, winningly and divinely beautiful, she looked again on this man whom the world was to call her husband.
"Will you be ready at five?" he whispered.
"Yes."
They lingered a moment longer; he said:
"I don't know how I am going to endure life without you until five o'clock."
She said seriously: "I can't bear to leave you, Jim. But you know you have almost as many things to do as I have."
"As though a man could attend to things on his wedding day!"
"This girl has to. I don't know how I am ever going to go through the last odds and ends of business – but it's got to be managed somehow. Do you really think we had better go up to Silverwood in the car? Won't this snow make the roads bad? It may not have melted in the country."
"Oh, it's all right! And I'll have you to myself in the car – "
"Suppose we are ditched?" She shivered again, then forced a little laugh. "Do you know, it doesn't seem possible to me that I am going to be your wife to-morrow, too, and the next day, and the next, and always, year after year. Somehow, it seems as though our dream were already ending – that I shall not see you at five o'clock – that it is all unreal – "
The smile faded, and into her blue eyes came something resembling fear – gone instantly – but the hint of it had been there, whatever it was; and the ghost of it still lingered in her white, flower-like face.
She whispered, forcing the smile again: "Happiness sometimes frightens; and it is making me a little afraid, I think. Come for me at five, Jim, and try to make me comprehend that nothing in the world can ever harm us. Tell your man where to take me – but only to the corner of my street, please."
He opened the limousine door; she stepped in, and he wrapped the robe around her. A cloud over the sun had turned the world grey for a moment. Again she seemed to feel the sudden chill in the air, and tried to shake it off.
"Look at Mr. Cairns and Cynthia," she whispered, leaning forward from her seat and looking toward the church.
He turned. Cairns and Miss Lessler had emerged from the portico and were lingering there in earnest consultation, quite oblivious of them.
"Do you like her, Jim?" she asked.
He smiled.
"I didn't notice her very much – or Jack either. A man isn't likely to notice anybody at such a time – except the girl he is marrying – "
"Look at her now. Don't you think her expression is very sweet?"
"It's all right. Dear, do you suppose I can fix my attention on – "
"You absurd boy! Are you really as much in love with me as that? Please be nice to her. Would you mind going back and speaking to her when I drive away?"
"All right," he said.
Their glances lingered for a moment more; then he drew a quick, sharp breath, closed the limousine door, and spoke briefly to the chauffeur.
As long as the car remained in sight across the square, he watched it; then, when it had disappeared, he turned toward the church. But Cairns and Cynthia were already far down the street, walking side by side, very leisurely, apparently absorbed in conversation. They must have seen him. Perhaps they had something more interesting to say to each other than to him.
He followed them irresolutely for a few steps, then, as the idea persisted that they might not desire his company, he turned and started west across the sunny, wet pavement.
It was quite true that Cairns and Cynthia had seen him; also it was a fact that neither had particularly wanted him to join them at that exact moment.
Meeting at St. George's for the first time in two years, and although prepared for the encounter, these two, who had once known each other so well, experienced a slight shock when they met. The momentary contact of her outstretched hand and his hand left them both very silent; even the formal commonplaces had failed them after the first swift, curious glance had been exchanged.
Cairns noticed that she had grown taller and slenderer. And though there seemed to be no more of maturity to her than to the young girl he had once known, her poise and self-control were now in marked contrast to the impulsive and slightly nervous Cynthia he had found so amusing in callower days.
Once or twice during the ceremony he had ventured to glance sideways at her. In the golden half-light of the altar there seemed to be an unfamiliar dignity and sweetness about the girl that became her. And in the delicate oval of her face he thought he discerned those finer, nobler contours made by endurance, by self-denial, and by sorrow.
Later, when he saw her kiss Jacqueline, something in the sweet sincerity of the salute suddenly set a hidden chord vibrating within him; and, to his surprise, he found speech difficult for a moment, checked by emotions for which there seemed no reason.
And at last Jacqueline and Desboro went away, and Cynthia slowly turned to him, offering her hand in adieu.
"Mr. Cairns," she said quietly, "this is the last place on earth that you and I ever thought to meet. Perhaps it is to be our last meeting place. So – I will say good-bye – "
"May I not walk home with you? Or, if you prefer to drive, my car is here – " he began.
"Thank you; it's only to the theatre – if you care to walk with me – "
"Are you rehearsing?"
"There is a rehearsal called for eleven."