Oh! what a relief, when they knelt, and she could more or less hide herself; but she was so unstrung and agitated that she let fall her prayer-book and her bag! Mayne picked them both up, and as he gravely restored them, he glanced at her heightened colour, and averted eyes. It seemed positively cruel to scrutinize her,—his bride of two and a half years! for in spite of his apparent composure he had not failed to realize the extraordinary situation, and Nancy's miserable confusion.
Strange to say, Mrs. De Wolfe was totally unaware of the little drama beside her; her attention had been closely engaged in viewing with much amusement the extraordinary collection of people that Mrs. Hicks' cards of invitation had assembled.—The end of the service found Nancy calmer; bodily release was at hand; but her mind had been grasped by a penetrating thought. She had made a vow more than two years ago; a vow to this man beside her, a vow she had deliberately broken. Would God punish her? It was the first time she had been invaded by this idea.—She glanced instinctively at her companion. Apparently he had not given the situation a moment's thought; and was carefully extracting from its haven of refuge, a beautiful, glossy new hat. And now the bride and bridegroom came pacing down the aisle, and Teddy, who had completely recovered his poise, halted as he passed, and said "You two," glancing from Mayne to Nancy, "must come out, and sign."
There was nothing else for it! Mayne at once stepped forth, Nancy followed him, and they fell into line behind the bridesmaids, and not a few who saw them, thought, "What a strikingly good-looking couple!"
They entirely eclipsed the real pair. Such a crowd in the vestry, such kissing and chattering!—Mrs. Hicks' voice, high above every other, Jessie radiant, with veil thrown back, kissed Nancy,—and Mayne kissed her!
When it was his turn to sign the register, he wrote, "Derek D. Mayne, Captain," then passed the pen to Nancy. For a moment she hesitated; she felt his eyes fixed upon her, and with a sudden and inexplicable impulse, and a very shaky hand, she scrawled, "Nancy Mayne": it was almost illegible; an inkstained spider could have done as well, if not better. She happened to be the last to sign, and no one looked over the register, except Mrs. Hicks,—who saw to everything;—little escaped that sharp-eyed matron, who instantly recognizing this unexpected signature, glanced quickly from the page to Mayne, and gave him a bold, and unmistakable wink.
The reception, which took place at a neighbouring hotel, was very crowded, very noisy, and very lively,—precisely what was to be expected from anything in which Mrs. Hicks had a hand! The presents on show, were well worthy of exhibition,—the refreshments were first-rate, the band not too blatant, and the champagne unexceptional. It was agreed by their many friends, that the Hicks' had spared no expense, and given the marriage "Tasmasha" in great style.
The crowd, crush, heat, and striving to be gay, natural, and like herself, left Nancy to return to her temporary home, figuratively in the condition of some half-dead, battered flower!
The memory of the ceremony, held her in a vice-like grip; as for signing the register,—what had possessed her? Was it a compelling look in Mayne's eyes, or was it a spasmodic effort of conscience? In the crush, at the reception, although she did not actually come across Mayne, she had seen him more than once. He had assisted to tie a shoe at the back of the motor which was to bear the happy couple away, and was active and prominent among the mob that threw rice. There had been neither slipper, nor rice, at their wedding!
Soon after this eventful occasion, one morning in the Row, Mrs. Speyde rode up to Nancy, and said to her escort, "Do you go away, Tony,—I want to have a talk with Nancy."
"No fear!" was the brotherly reply.