"Will you and Ronald go quietly out one of the side doors," I asked,
"take your own car, and go back to the hotel, allowing us to follow
you a little later?"
It takes more than one year of marriage for even the cleverest
Benedict to
uproot those weeds of stupidity, denseness, and non-
comprehension that seem to grow so riotously in the
mental garden of
the
bachelor; so, said Himself, "We came all together; why shouldn't
we go home all together?" (So like a man! Always
reasoning from
analogy; always, so to speak, 'lugging in' logic!)
"Desperate situations demand
desperate remedies," I replied
mysteriously, though I hope
patiently. "If you go home at once
without any questions, you will be
virtuous, and it is more than
likely that you will also be happy; and if you are not, somebody
else will be."
Having seen the backs of our two cavaliers disappearing
meekly into
the rain, I stationed Francesca at a point of
vantage, and went out
to my victims in the front pew.
"The others went on ahead," I explained, with elaborate
carelessness--"they wanted to drive by Dublin Castle; and we are
going to follow as we like. For my part, I am tired, and you are
looking pale, Salemina; I am sure your ankle is
painful. Help her,
Dr. Gerald, please; she is so proud and self-reliant that she won't
even lean on any one's arm, if she can avoid it. Take her down the
middle aisle, for I've sent your car to that door' (this was the
last of a
series of happy thoughts on my part). "I'll go and tell
Francesca, who is flirting with the
organist. She has an
appointment at the tailor's; so I will drop her there, and join you
at the hotel in a few minutes."
The refractory pair of
innocent,
middle-aged lovers started, arm in
arm, on what I ardently hoped would be an eventful walk together.
It was from, instead of toward the altar, to be sure, but I was
certain it would finally lead them to it,
notwithstanding the
unusual method of approach. I gave Francesca the signal, and then,
disappearing behind the
screen, I held her hand in a palpitation of
nervous
apprehension that I had scarcely felt when Himself first
asked me to be his.
The young
organist, blushing to the roots of his hair, trembling
with
responsibility, smiling at the
humour of the thing, pulled out
all the stops, and the Wedding March pealed through the cathedral,
the splendid joy and swing and
triumph of it echoing through the
vaulted aisles in a way that
positively incited one to bigamy.
"We may regard the matter as settled now,"
whispered Francesca
comfortably. "Anybody would ask anybody else to marry him, whether
he was in love with her or not. If it weren't so beautiful and so
touching, wouldn't it be
amusing? Isn't the
organist a
darling, and
doesn't he enter into the spirit of it? See him shaking with
sym
patheticlaughter, and yet he never lets a smile creep into the
music; it is all
earnestness and
majesty. May I peep now and see
how they are getting on?"
"Certainly not! What are you thinking of, Francesca? Our only
justification in this whole matter is that we are
absolutely serious
about it. We shall say good-bye to the
organist, wring his hand
gratefully, and steal with him through the little door. Then in a
half-hour we shall know the worst or the best; and we must remember
to send him cards and a marked copy of the newspaper containing the
marriage notice."
Salemina told me all about it that night, but she never suspected
the
interference of any deus ex machina save that of the traditional
God of Love, who, it seems to me, has not kept up with the
requirements of the age in all respects, and leaves a good deal for
us women to do nowadays.
"Would that you had come up this aisle to meet me, Salemina, and
that you were walking down again as my wife!" This was what Dr.
Gerald had surprised her by
saying, when the
wedding music had
finally entered into his soul, driving away for the moment his doubt
and fear and self-distrust; and I can well believe that the
hopelessness of his tone stirred her tender heart to its very
depths.
"What did you answer?" I asked
breathlessly, on the
impulse of the
moment.
We were talking by the light of a single candle. Salemina turned
her head a little aside, but there was a look on her face that
repaid me for all my labour and
anxiety, a look in which her forty
years melted away and became as twenty, a look that was the outward
and
visible expression of the
inward and
spiritual youth that has
always been hers; then she replied simply-
"I told him what is true: that my life had been one long coming to
meet him, and that I was quite ready to walk with him to the end of
the world."
. . . . . .
I left her to her thoughts, which I well knew were more precious
than my words, and went across the hall, where Benella was packing
Francesca's last purchases. Ordinarily one of us manages to
superintend such operations, as the Derelict's
principal aim is to
make two garments go where only one went before. Nature in her
wildest moments never abhorred a
vacuum in her
dominion as Miss
Dusenberry resents it in a trunk.
"Benella," I said, in that
mysteriouswhisper which one uses for
such communications, "Dr. La Touche has asked Miss Peabody to marry
him, and she has consented."
"It was full time!" the Derelict responded, with a deep sigh of
relief, "but better late than never! Men folks are so queer, I
don't hardly know how a
merciful Providence ever came to
invent 'em!
Either they're so bold they'd propose to the Queen o' Sheba without
mindin' it a mite, or else they're such scare-cats you 'bout have to
ask 'em yourself, and then lug 'em to the minister's afterwards--
there don't seem to be no halfway with 'em. Well, I'm glad you're
all settled; it must be nice to have folks!"
It was a
pathetic little
phrase, and I fancied I detected a tear in
her usually
cheerful and
decided voice. Acting on the
suspicion, I
said
hurriedly, "You have already had a share of Miss Monroe's
'folks' and mine offered you, and now Miss Peabody will be sure to
add hers to the number. Your only difficulty will be to attend to
them all impartially, and keep them from quarrelling as to which
shall have you next."
She brightened visibly. "Yes," she assented, without any
superfluous modesty,--squeezing as she spoke a pair of bronze
slippers into the crown of Francesca's favourite hat--"yes, that
part'll be hard on all of us; but I want you to know that I belong
to you this winter, any way; Miss Peabody can get along without me
better'n you can."
Her glance was freighted with a kind of evasive, half-embarrassed
affection; shy, unobtrusive,
respectful it was, but altogether
friendly and helpful.
That the relations between us have ever quite been those of mistress
and maid, I cannot
affirm. We have tried to
persuade ourselves that
they were at least an
imitation of the proper thing, just to
maintain our self-respect while travelling in a country of
monarchical institutions, but we have always tacitly understood the
real situation and accepted its piquant incongruities.
So when I met Benella Dusenberry's
wistful, sym
pathetic eye, my
republican head,
reckless of British conventions, found the maternal
hollow in her spinster shoulder as I said, "Dear old Derelict! it
was a good day for us when you drifted into our harbour!"
End