The carriage drove up just as she had finished, and, taking her bouquet from the maid, she went down-stairs with the sun shining full on her as she went, and yet unable to find a flaw in her beauty or a shadow in her happy eyes.
Colonel Dacre and his best man were standing at the altar as Lady Gwendolyn entered the church on the arm of Lord Denby, Miss Ponsonby’s father, and a very old friend of the St. Maur family. A lovely light and color went over her face as she saw him, and met the glance of loving admiration that welcomed her to his side.
Then she forgot to realize herself as she stood by the steady figure, and listened to the words of the marriage service. She began to understand what a terrible chain matrimony must be when people joined hands without joining hearts; and a thrill of thankfulness ran through her, remembering what perfect union subsisted between herself and her husband.
For he was her husband now. The priest had joined their hands, and had lifted his voice to say: “Those whom God has joined let no man put asunder.”
The warm, firm pressure of Lawrence’s fingers seemed to testify that he was well able to keep what he had won, and the consciousness of his strength soothed and comforted Lady Gwendolyn as nothing else could have done.
She liked his gravity, too, for it showed how thoroughly he felt with her, and realized the deeper and holier meaning of their marriage. There was quite a gathering in the church by the time the ceremony was over; but neither bride nor bridegroom knew much about it. Lady Gwendolyn signed her maiden name for the last time, and then they stepped out into the sunshine together.
Happy, beautiful, and young, the world seemed a lovely place to these two; and they felt as if they had one smile, as well as one heart, between them, as each looked into the other’s eyes, and saw reflected there the happiness of his and her heart.
There was not much time to spare when they got back to Park Lane; but Lord Denby made a pretty little speech during the breakfast, which sounded as if it had been inspired by Veuve Clicquot’s best champagne, as it was so frothily graceful; then Colonel Dacre looked at the clock and touched his wife’s arm.
“I am afraid we shall miss our train, Gwen, if we don’t start soon.”
She rose directly, and in a very short time returned in a traveling-dress, which was of brown cashmere, trimmed with silk of a darker shade.