In the room reserved for the groom Dick turned from the mirror where he had been complacently regarding his gardenia, and caught a glimpse of David's face.
"I say, old man, what's wrong? Funk? Cheer up. It'll soon be over."
"It isn't that."
Over David it had suddenly come that the mating of lives is not a light matter. Standing at a window, he had caught from the storm a vague presage of perils and pitfalls approaching, through and around which he must be guide for another. That other was very, very dear to him. The thought set him to quaking. It was the first responsibility he had had in all his life.
Then quick upon the thought surged a wave of deep poignant tenderness for her to whom he must be guide.
There was a tap at the door, answered by Dick.
"They're ready. All right, old man?"
"All right," David said. "I'm ready."
A minute later he stood waiting, while the old music rolled from the organ. A slender veiled figure appeared in a doorway. The mist in his eyes cleared away. Very steadily he took her. . . . .
They entered their machine amid a shower of rice and old slippers. He caught her close to him and held her, silent. After a while he felt a sob shake her.