Love is the best,and the more she let herself love him,the more chance was there that he would set his soul in order.Such a moment as this,when they sat under fair weather by the walks of their future home,was so sweet to her that its sweetness would surely pierce to him.Each lift of his eyes,each parting of the thatched lip from the clean-shaven,must prelude the tenderness that kills the Monk and the Beast at a single blow.Disappointed a hundred times,she still hoped.She loved him with too clear a vision to fear his cloudiness.Whether he droned trivialities,as today,or sprang kisses on her in the twilight,she could pardon him,she could respond.
"If there is this nasty curve,"she suggested,"couldn't we walk to the church?Not,of course,you and Evie;but the rest of us might very well go on first,and that would mean fewer carriages.""One can't have ladies walking through the Market Square.The Fussells wouldn't like it;they were awfully particular at Charles's wedding.My--she--one of our party was anxious to walk,and certainly the church was just round the corner,and I shouldn't have minded;but the Colonel made a great point of it.""You men shouldn't be so chivalrous,"said Margaret thoughtfully.
"Why not?"
She knew why not,but said that she did not know.
He then announced that,unless she had anything special to say,he must visit the wine-cellar,and they went off together in search of Burton.Though clumsy and a little inconvenient,Oniton was a genuine country house.They clattered down flagged passages,looking into room after room,and scaring unknown maids from the performance of obscure duties.The wedding-breakfast must be in readiness when they came back from church,and tea would be served in the garden.
The sight of so many agitated and serious people made Margaret smile,but she reflected that they were paid to be serious,and enjoyed being agitated.
Here were the lower wheels of the machine that was tossing Evie up into nuptial glory.A little boy blocked their way with pig-tails.
His mind could not grasp their greatness,and he said:"By your leave;let me pass,please."Henry asked him where Burton was.But the servants were so new that they did not know one another's names.In the still-room sat the band,who had stipulated for champagne as part of their fee,and who were already drinking beer.Scents of Araby came from the kitchen,mingled with cries.Margaret knew what had happened there,for it happened at Wickham Place.One of the wedding dishes had boiled over,and the cook was throwing cedar-shavings to hide the smell.At last they came upon the butler.Henry gave him the keys,and handed Margaret down the cellar-stairs.Two doors were unlocked.She,who kept all her wine at the bottom of the linen-cupboard,was astonished at the sight."We shall never get through it!"she cried,and the two men were suddenly drawn into brotherhood,and exchanged smiles.She felt as if she had again jumped out of the car while it was moving.
Certainly Oniton would take some digesting.
It would be no small business to remain herself,and yet to assimilate such an establishment.She must remain herself,for his sake as well as her own,since a shadowy wife degrades the husband whom she accompanies;and she must assimilate for reasons of common honesty,since she had no right to marry a man and make him uncomfortable.Her only ally was the power of Home.The loss of Wickham Place had taught her more than its possession.Howards End had repeated the lesson.She was determined to create new sanctities among these hills.
After visiting the wine-cellar,she dressed,and then came the wedding,which seemed a small affair when compared with the preparations for it.Everything went like one o'clock.Mr.
Cahill materialized out of space,and was waiting for his bride at the church door.No one dropped the ring or mispronounced the responses,or trod on Evie's train,or cried.In a few minutes--the clergymen performed their duty,the register was signed,and they were back in their carriages,negotiating the dangerous curve by the lych-gate.Margaret was convinced that they had not been married at all,and that the Norman church had been intent all the time on other business.
There were more documents to sign at the house,and the breakfast to eat,and then a few more people dropped in for the garden party.There had been a great many refusals,and after all it was not a very big affair--not as big as Margaret's would be.
She noted the dishes and the strips of red carpet,that outwardly she might give Henry what was proper.But inwardly she hoped for something better than this blend of Sunday church and fox-hunting.If only someone had been upset!But this wedding had gone off so particularly well--"quite like a Durbar"in the opinion of Lady Edser,and she thoroughly agreed with her.
So the wasted day lumbered forward,the bride and bridegroom drove off,yelling with laughter,and for the second time the sun retreated towards the hills of Wales.Henry,who was more tired than he owned,came up to her in the castle meadow,and,in tones of unusual softness,said that he was pleased.Everything had gone off so well.
She felt that he was praising her,too,and blushed;certainly she had done all she could with his intractable friends,and had made a special point of kowtowing to the men.They were breaking camp this evening:
