A brilliant June sun lay sparkling on tree and tower and over the roofs of Wroxton and the downs which rise above the city. The morning might have been ordered, like the wedding-cake, with carte-blanche, and no expense to be spared. The promise of that first day of spring when Jeannie had played golf with her fiancé was royally fulfilled, the vigour and glory of the year was at its midmost. A light wind tempered the heat of the morning, and set all the leaves of the trees chattering to each other, and woke innumerable songs in the throats of the lawn-haunting birds.

The marriage was to take place at two, and for an hour before people had streamed into the Cathedral. The rows of free seats in nave and transepts were full of the boys and girls of Jeannie’s classes, and the combined length of feather in the girls’ hats would have stretched from Bolton Street to[329] the altar. Many of them knew exactly how to behave at a marriage, and long before anything happened at all were crying profusely into their pocket-handkerchiefs. This very proper proceeding was interrupted with interested glances toward the west door, and when, a few minutes before two, it was rumoured that the bridegroom had arrived, the handkerchiefs were discreetly put away, for if you weep you are apt to miss points of interest.

The choir was kept for the invited guests, who had come in enormous numbers. A whole clan of Aveshams and Fortescues were there, and Colonel Raymond felt it was quite a family gathering, and was conscientiously able to congratulate himself on their appearance. The Collingwood party, he considered, lacked that fine air of distinction which marked his race, and the Colonel looked immensely interesting, and quite distinctly caught the eye of a countess no less, who instantly looked away.

Among the women present there was only one dark spot of colour. In a seat near the screen was Miss Clara. She was in black.[330]

Weddings tend to be like each other. There are the same pieces on the organ, and for the most part the same hymns. There is the same anxiety to see how the bride behaves, and the same disappointment to find that she behaves like most other brides.

Jeannie was perhaps a little different; she looked quite radiantly happy, and not self-conscious at all; she said her own word very audibly, and on the way down from the altar she caught sight of Miss Clara, stopped the whole procession to kiss her in the face of the assembled congregation, and all the Avesham contingent said to their neighbours, “Who is that woman in black?”

Afterward there was a reunion at Bolton Street, and Collingwoods mixed in a manner which did not suggest chemical affinity with Aveshams, and each found the other just a shade trying. The bridegroom’s mother, for instance, was, to say the least of it, puzzled with Lady Tamar, the bride’s aunt, who smoked a cigarette with the whole of the close looking on, and really did not seem to be aware how unusually she was behaving. It was idle to explain, and Lady Tamar, on her[331] side, at the end of the interview, said to herself, “Poor Jeannie!” However, as neither knew (or cared) what the other thought of her, there was no harm done. It was lucky indeed that Mrs. Collingwood was not aware what the world in general said about Lady Tamar; lucky also that Lady Tamar did not know the innermost truth about Mrs. Collingwood! She believed that the whole world was made to amuse her, and, if she had known, Mrs. Collingwood would have amused her so much that her inextinguishable laughter might have caused offence. Colonel Raymond alone, perhaps, was of all present in the seventh heaven of bliss; he did not talk to anybody, but he listened with both ears, and stocked himself with distinguished names. He had an excellent memory and the Peerage. Thus his old cronies were likely to hear more of collateral Aveshams.

Both bride and bridegroom effaced themselves fro............