Up through the narrowest and least conspicuous path of all, one which few of the wedding revelers had noticed because its entrance was designedly unlighted, came a slim white figure with bent head. Peter, gazing dreamily out over the lawn, saw it at once, and recognised it with a start of gladness.
Shirley came on across the velvety grass without looking up, and slowly ascended the porch steps with her eyes still cast down. Reaching the top, she turned about and stood leaning against the pillar, on the other side of which was Peter's chair, without noticing his presence, staring off at the rainbow-tinted lights, and seeing a little misty halo about each one.
When she had stood motionless there for some time, Peter spoke, so quietly that he hardly startled her. She turned about with a little choking breath, said, "Oh, is it you?" in a tone of relief, and resumed her former position.
"I wish I could help make it easier," said Peter, very gently. "You 've made things easier for me so many times, first and last."
"You do," said Shirley, in a half-whisper.
"Do I? I'm glad. But how?"
"Just by being there."
Peter's face lighted up. This was a most unusual tribute from his independent little friend. He got slowly to his crutches, and with a greater effort than he had yet made, came stumping round to her side of the pillar, and stood near her, leaning against a great green tub which held a towering palm. He felt somehow as if he must be literally upon his feet in order to stand by her in this crisis.
Both were silent again for some minutes, until suddenly Shirley looked round at him, and exclaimed, "Why, I mustn't let you stand like this! Please sit down again."
"Not unless you do."