“No, I don’t,” said George rather aggressively. “Why should I?”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know why you should,” said the other, in the lazy but effective manner habitual to him, as if he really wished they wouldn’t give him the trouble of talking, but if they insisted on bringing it upon themselves, why there it was, you know. “Only I’d heard you liked something of a milder flavour.”
“You were quite mistaken then,” said George, quietly but with sledge-hammer sincerity, “I admire them and approve of them just as the Dutch do of storks. They are a charming feature of the landscape—what would the park be to look at without them and their turn-outs?—and they live upon the noxious slimy creatures that would otherwise become a pest to decent people.”
And he puffed away again at his pipe.
The two younger men laughed awkwardly, rather ashamed of their late extravagance of adulation, and afraid of Lauriston’s contempt. But Captain Pascoe, who felt venomously angry, said it was very smart, if it hadn’t been said before, as he rather fancied. And from that moment the want of harmony between the elements of the party became more and more apparent until it is a question whether all did not feel when they got back to town that it was worth while to have gone through the day together for the sake of the relief and delight of parting.
George hurried to the street where Nouna was staying, only for the rapture of gazing upon the dead eyes of the windows behind which she was sleeping. He walked up and down on the opposite side of the way for hours, in that irrational ecstasy of anticipation trembling on the borders of fulfilment which the devotees of long engagements—whatever their compensating advantages of better knowledge and calmer reason may be—never know. It was to be a perfect life, this new life of his and hers, humanised, not vulgarised, by comparative poverty, with no trials less ennobling than the struggles of his just ambition, and his endeavours to bring his young wife’s extravagant views into conformity with the smallness of their fortune. At that moment the prospect seemed almost too radiant, and George at last went reluctantly away with a superstitious fear that something must happen on the morrow to dash down the fabric of so much supernatural happiness.
However, when, on the following morning, after a sleepless night of feverish imaginings, George fell at last into a doze, and waking sprang out of bed in crazy terror lest he should have overslept himself, everything went as smoothly as possible. He was in plenty of time to go to the apartments he had taken, to see that all was ready for his bride’s reception, then to be at the church at eight o’clock, as they had arranged; even as he drove up to the door he saw another hansom approaching with Nouna and Mr. Angelo, who was to give the bride away; and, lastly, he had not forgotten the ring. He waited at the door for them, and helped Nouna to descend with a tremor in his limbs and a tumultuous upheaval of all the forces of his nature as she laid her small hand lightly on his arm and sprang to the ground with indecorous haste, and a face beaming with happy, light-hearted excitement.
She was most oddly dressed in white mull muslin draperies that appeared to be kept together only by a broad sash of soft white silk that was swathed several times round her body, and the wide ends of which hung on the left side nearly to her feet. Long white silk gloves covered her arms and met the hanging draperies, while her head was crowned, not covered, by a white silk fez. Her dark skin glowed with an unusual and beautiful tinge of pink, her black eyes danced with excitement, and between her vividly crimson lips two straight rows of strong ivory teeth gleamed as she laughed. A handsome, graceful, untamed creature, with all the instincts and scarcely more than the capacity for thought of a healthy young animal, skipping into a Christian church to bind herself with lifelong vows in exactly the same spirit with which she had entered the draper’s shop the week before to enjoy the delicious excitement of buying a new bonnet.
A baker’s boy, who happened to be passing, put down his basket to watch her in open-mouthed admiration and astonishment. George himself, intoxicated as he was by his passion, felt a sudden misgiving, not as to the wisdom, but as to the generosity, of entering with this eager child into a compact, the nature and terms of which, it now occurred to him for the first time, she did not in the least understand. Instead of sobering her by its solemn significance, marriage seemed to be turning her head, and to have by anticipation dispersed even those pretty little moods of dignity and of languid silence with which she had formerly varied the monotony of her childish gaiety. Her very greeting was sufficiently suggestive of her views of the impending ceremony.
“You see I’m all in white,” she began as she sprang down upon the pavement. “I thought you would like me to be dressed in white, so I made this dress myself last night, and sat up so late making the cap—for I made it all myself, fancy that!—that I overslept myself this morning and was nearly late. What would you have done if I hadn’t come at all?”