"Do you, Sidney, take this woman, to be your wedded wife ... succor and cherish in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Franklin had promised, just as clearly, and she had thrilled with the safety of his protection. How awed she had been, almost grateful, for this opportunity to build a life together, not a life with all beauty drugged to nagging duty, but a free life, brimming with opportunity, overflowing with beauty. And even while he promised—she knew now what had been Franklin's mood as he stood beside her—desire, throttled to control until the effort whitened and sharpened his face to the Galahad look.
Jean's head drooped.
And with Gregory, no open honesty like this, but smothering secrecy that she had tried to glorify.
To love, honor and obey, till Death do you part.
To seal the truth openly before all, as Alice was doing. In all her life she would never have a memory as this would be to Alice.
"In the name of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost, I pronounce you man and wife."
There was a moment of deep silence, in which it seemed to Jean that these two people as individuals, were effaced in this Thing they had just done, and that, never till the end of time could they again be two.
Then every one was crowding about, laughing and talking and trying to kiss the bride. But Alice fended them all off and Jerome took her in his arms. Jean saw his face twitch as he let her go.
"How he is going to miss her," Jean thought and then Jerome was crossing the room to her.