It was a morning of much excitement for Lettice, who had never been a bride's-maid before: and for about the first time during six weeks past, her mind did not dwell continuously on the thought of Dr. Bryant in his solitude.
Coming out of Church, after the happy pair, a vague sense took possession of Lettice that somebody familiar and unexpected was present. She could not at once give shape to the notion, and she did not exactly see the "somebody." It was rather a dim consciousness that such an one might be seen—and her eyes roved about anxiously. Had she caught a glimpse, or had she not—almost without knowing? An answer came in the porch, when a kind finely-outlined face, framed in grey hair, was suddenly close at hand; and then she was aware that she had before detected him in Church, though her brain had not fully translated what her eyes had seen.
"Uncle Maurice!" burst from her lips.
"Presently!" he said, as his hand clasped hers. "Go and enjoy yourself, my child. I shall see you by-and-by."
The next two hours were passed in pleasurable suspense. When at length bride and bridegroom had taken their departure, Lettice was free to go home,—and there, according to hope, she found Dr. Bryant comfortably established.
"So this is where you live!" he said.
"It isn't a palace, uncle. But big rooms don't make happiness."
"That's an aphorism worthy of a copybook. Wedding gone off all right?"
"O yes. But how did you know?"
"I called here, and learnt where you were gone."