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"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

sympatheticlaughter, 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, sympathetic 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


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