Lali was as if in a dream. She never took her eyes from the group at the altar until the end, and the two, now man and wife, turned to go into the vestry. Then she appeared to sink away into herself for a moment, before she fell into conversation with the others, as they moved towards the vestry.
“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” ventured Edward Lambert.
“The most beautiful wedding I ever saw,” she answered, with a little shadow of meaning; and Lambert guessed that it was the only one she had seen since she came to England.
“How well Vidall looked,” said Frank, “and as proud as a sultan. Did you hear what he said, as Marion came up the aisle?”
“No,” responded Lambert.
“He said, ‘By Jove, isn’t she fine!’ He didn’t seem conscious that other people were present.”
“Well, if a man hasn’t some inspirations on his wedding-day when is he to have them?” said Mrs. Lambert. “For my part, I think that the woman always does that sort of thing better than a man. It is her really great occasion, and she masters it—the comedy is all hers.” They were just then entering the vestry.
“Or the tragedy, as the case may be,” said Lali quietly, smiling at Marion. She had, as it were, recovered herself, and her words had come with that airy, impersonal tone which permits nothing of what is said in it to be taken seriously. Something said by the others had recalled her to herself, and she was now returned very suddenly to the old position of alertness and social finesse. Something icy seemed to pass over her, and she immediately lost all self-consciousness, and began to speak to her husband with less reserve than she had shown since he had come. But he was not deceived. He saw that at that very instant she was further away from him than she had ever been. He sighed, in spite of himself, as Lali, with well-turned words, said some loving greetings to Marion, and then talked a moment with Captain Vidall.
“Who can understand a woman?” said Lambert to his wife meaningly.
“Whoever will,” she answered. “How do you mean?”