CHAPTER IX BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM
Even a short railway journey often has the effect of creating an interval that means far longer than the actual lapse of time—a honeymoon journey perhaps most of all, marking, as it does, the turning point, the beginning of a new epoch in two young lives.
Therefore, by the time Roger and his bride arrived at Dover he had not only recovered his equanimity, but the extraordinary events of the morning, and even the grim and startling news he had learned at the moment of departure had receded far away, like the remembrance of an evil dream. The only thing that really mattered was the great and wonderful fact that he and Grace were together, and would be henceforth not only, as the beautiful words in which they had so lately plighted their solemn troth declared, “till death us do part,” but, as all true lovers hope and believe, together in spirit for all eternity—“out beyond into the dream to come.”
The proud, tender, protective air with which he assisted Grace to alight, the radiant happiness of their young faces, were instantly “spotted” by the nearest porter, who bustled up in cheery anticipation of a noble tip.
“Two cabin trunks, kit-bag, and two hat-boxes in the van—very good, sir,” said he, taking possession of Grace’s dressing case and travelling rugs. “What are they like? New?”
“Oh, no! quite old. We’ll point them out,” said Grace with demure dignity, and shot an adorable glance at Roger as they followed the man, threading their way through the crowd on the platform.
They had decided to avoid any brand-new appearance, fondly imagining thereby that they would pass as an “old married couple”—as though any such device could conceal their blissful state from even the least observant of onlookers!
They halted behind an opulent-looking couple, the man smoking a huge cigar, the lady shrilly claiming a whole pile of trunks as they were bundled out of the van, and Grace, with a little gasp of dismay, clutched Roger’s sleeve and drew him aside.