And then the joke faded ... for the old man spoke directly to her, and made her feel suddenly that at last she belonged; that this was her faith, and these her people; and that standing here under the white canopy, she was really fulfilling her destiny at last—the destiny for which Deb Marcus had been primarily shaped and intended. After all, she had not been able to achieve free adventure—and compromise was a poor substitute. It was kind of Jehovah to have guided her from debatable ground to safety.
And she would cease from baffling and bamboozling Samson, who was high-principled and faithful. What had she made out of her loose-jointed set of values, to enable her to scoff at his? Deb was now full to the brim of her being with contrition and clear sweetness and gratitude.... A few yards away Ferdie was beaming happily—Dear old dad—and she had been such a beast, blaming him for all her own freakish behaviour. And there was Richard, scowling a little self-consciously in his endeavour to appear absolutely at ease—all Samson’s brothers were already married and ineligible for the office of best man, which devolved therefore upon Richard ... brows hunched over eyes that were wonderfully at peace. Six weeks ago, he had looked like a man of thirty; now he looked what he was—a sturdy well-blocked-out pugnacious youngster of seventeen. It was all right—Deb had spoken to Samson about him, and Samson had spoken to his cousin Sir Ephraim Phillips, who had promised when the time of internment drew actually near, to interest himself, not only to the extent of (certainly) getting Richard off, but furthermore to get him (perhaps) into the fighting line somewhere. So Richard’s state was that of a parched creature who had sighted water to slake his thirst....
All the same, it was no joke being responsible for the ring and the fees—and the carriages and—and half-a-dozen other things. It rendered a properly nonchalant bearing impossible. And he had made a bad beginning by the reverent removal of a sleek silk hat from a sleek bullet head, directly on entrance ... five bearded gentlemen draped in black had made a rush at him and besought him to replace his hat upon his head.
His eyes met his sister’s in a swift comprehending glance. “Sure it’s all right, Deb—for you, I mean?” “Quite, quite sure, old boy!” the unspoken question and answer between them.
The glass was set in the neighbourhood of Samson’s foot, and he ground it vindictively into powder. His mother at the reception afterwards, called all her friends and relatives to bear witness with what spirit he had performed this part of the ritual. It was fortunate that she did not overhear David Redbury’s remark to the effect that Samson had not only used all the energy which his great prototype had expended on the pillars of the temple, to crush one small wine-glass; but had then further deviated from Biblical history by inviting the Philistines home with him to champagne and iced cake....
“Oh, hush, David!” from Nell.
“Well—look at us!” Israel was indeed enormously represented. The rooms glimmered and glittered with the clan Phillips. Already they owned Deb (“little Deb”); swarmed about her in heavy, jocular proprietorship; bore her triumphantly away to be robed for the honeymoon journey.
Mr and Mrs Samson Phillips left at 4.30, en route for Torquay.