Captain Mayne's remark with regard to no further interview, proved correct; he and Nancy merely encountered one another as very slight acquaintances, who have friends in common. She noticed him riding in the Park with Josie,—they never joined her, but merely cantered by with a cheery salute. At a polo match at Ranelagh, where Mayne had played and distinguished himself, she looked on, whilst friends gathered round to congratulate him, and she saw Josie go up and pat the damp neck of his considerably blown pony. That same day, at the polo match, his mother, Lady Torquilstone, was pointed out to her by Mrs. De Wolfe; a tall, supremely well dressed, well preserved, arrogant woman, who looked as if the whole of Ranelagh was her private property, and most of the crowd, insufferable intruders.
"So that was her mother-in-law!" said Nancy to herself. Her mother-in-law's husband, was a dapper, prancing sort of little man, with fierce eyebrows, and a hard stare.
As Mrs. De Wolfe and her companion were motoring back to town, they passed Captain Mayne, who waved to them from the coach.
"It's most extraordinary," said the old lady, "that since he has come home, I've seen so little of Derek. Long ago when with his uncle, he was in and out of my place like a dog in a fair! Now he has merely left a formal card, and although I have twice asked him to dinner, he has been engaged. My conscience is clear, I have not offended him in any way, and I can't bear to be dropped by my young friends, to say nothing of old ones. By the way, Nancy," glancing at her companion, "perhaps you are the guilty party. Did he by any chance make love to you?"
"Oh, no; no indeed," replied Nancy, with reassuring emphasis.
"Well of course in those days, you must have been a little girl in short skirts, with your hair down your back, and I'm quite sure that Derek Mayne would never look at a flapper."
Although Nancy and Captain Mayne maintained a cautious distance, they were brought in spite of themselves into close contact at the Hicks—Dawson, wedding. The ceremony was a grand affair; everything was done in a lavish, if somewhat showy way. Nancy was not a bridesmaid, for Mrs. Hicks had intervened, and helped her out, with a series of the most extraordinary excuses,—these being accepted by Jessie, with a somewhat indifferent grace.
The church, which was rather small, was handsomely decorated, and crammed to the doors. With respect to the guests, Mrs. Hicks had figuratively "gone forth to the highways and hedges, and compelled them to come in." Old planter friends; recent fellow-passengers, and even the inmates of her "family hotel." Mrs. De Wolfe and Nancy were among early arrivals at the church, and the latter drew many admiring eyes; her gown and hat were white; she looked bridal herself! white suited her wonderful complexion, and reddish-brown hair. Almost at the last moment, and when the bridesmaids were actually assembled in the porch, Captain Mayne,—very smart in frock-coat, and lavender gloves,—came strolling up the aisle, glancing from side to side, in search of an empty space! Mrs. De Wolfe's quick eye caught his. She made a little signal, he crushed into her pew, and took a seat between Nancy, and the door.
The organ pealed, the choir leading the procession, advanced slowly up the aisle. Jessie, carrying herself with dignified self-possession, looked unusually well,—indeed quite at her best. Not so, the waiting bridegroom; for if his new coat was creaseless, his countenance was painfully distorted. He appeared to be pitiably nervous, and was struggling with a (happily groundless) fear, that he had lost the ring! Jessie was staunchly supported by her mother, rustling in a brilliant blue costume,—destined to open the eyes of the Meaches, and other neighbours. Meanwhile Nancy, whose attention had been riveted on Jessie, became suddenly alive to the appalling consciousness, that the last time she listened to these prayers, and adjurations, they had been addressed to herself,—and the man who stood beside her! She felt overwhelmed by the shock of this poignant memory; how mean and cruel of fate to drag them together in such a heartless fashion; each sentence now felt like a separate stab.
At Fairplains, the service had fallen on more or less deaf ears; here, she was acutely alive to every syllable. Did her companion remember? She stole a swift glance at Mayne; he was looking straight before him, and his profile was absolutely impassive. Such were the close quarters in the pew, that their elbows were almost touching: could he feel how she was trembling? When it came to the words, "forsaking all other, keeping only to him, as long as ye both shall live," Nancy, in spite of a determined effort at self-control, felt herself shaking from head to foot. The position was to the last degree embarrassing, and painful; compelled to listen to the celebration of Holy Matrimony, side by side with the man to whom she had been married,—and from whom she had run away! was an ordeal almost too terrible to be endured. Her face seemed to be on fire, her lips were twitching convulsively, as she kept her head down, and supported herself by the front of the pew.