How remarkably they gather! At one moment the street is normal save for that tell-tale scarlet strip; the next, as a swarm gathers out of the blue sky, so gather the wedding fans, ready, if need be, to prod a policeman in the ribs with an umbrella in order to watch another woman walk through a wedding-ring into a home....
Shall we join the ladies?
* * *
"Steady on there. Don't push."
That is the policeman. There is a surge and writhing of this solid mass of womanhood.
"Officer, could you stand just a little.... Thank you."
"'Ere, Robert, can't you move your fat self? I'm only a little one."
All kinds of women: Kensington and Balham and Clerkenwell; virgins, matrons, and grandmothers; some happy, some, no doubt, unhappy. What does that matter? Another bride is stepping out into life with the future in her eyes, and joy and sorrow presiding over her marvellous destiny.
* * *
"Who is it?"