“I hope I can be as good and sweet in my life as mamma has been in hers. And I will not ask any higher happiness.”
We walked up the church aisle. The children stood around, back of them Louis, Nelly and mamma, and then a host of eager parish faces. Does any one take it all in then, the solemn questions, the still more solemn promises?
Mr. Churchill gave us both away. Papa’s voice had a little falter in it, and I dared not look up. “For better, for worse,” “till death do us part,” rang clearly in heart and brain. The forever of human love, when it is love and no base counterfeit.
A little kissing, a few tears, some tremulous whispers and sad, sad good-byes. We whose farthest journey had been the brief sojourn at Martha’s Vineyard, took up the great pilgrimage of a new life.
I cannot tell you anything about it, or Stephen. It was a happy confusion of strange places and watchful care, bits of affection shining out of the tiniest rift. Honeymoons, I suppose, are much alike, but it is right for each to think his and hers the best and most delightful.
One afternoon the carriage set us down in so quiet a street that I could hardly believe it was New York. And when I entered the house, my new house, I doubted more than ever, for everybody was there. One kissed me until I thought the breath of life was surely gone, then another took me up. I have a dim suspicion that my sleeves were worn threadbare, and if my hair had not been all fast in my head, I am afraid the difference would have been discoverable.
“Why you are rounder and rosier than ever!” declared Fan, inspecting me.
She was elegant as a princess, and had her light silk dress trimmed with applique lace.
It seemed as if I never could get done looking at mamma, and papa hovered around me as if I was indeed an unusual sight.