Never was an old lady more gratified by an invitation.
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Carling and Mr. Carling, there is nothing, I assure you nothing, would give me greater pleasure!” she cried; “but”—Grace glanced at Roger as one who would say “I told you so”—“but I am torn between inclination and duty. The cathedral! It is so many, many years since I visited that beautiful vane; it would indeed be a privilege to do so once more, and in such a positively uxorious manner. But your dinner—there will be no one to prepare it!”
So that was the only objection, easily disposed of.
“We’re going to dine at Canterbury, of course,” said Roger; and Grace reminded her that the pheasant would keep till to-morrow and there was plenty in the house for supper.
Her housewifely scruples set at rest, in what a delightful flutter of excitement she retired to “dress,” reappearing enveloped in quite an assortment of ancient shawls and a long ostrich feather “boa,” the floating ends of which, with those of the gauze scarf adjusted around her “toque,” flapped across Roger’s eyes horribly when they started, till Grace twined them snugly round the old lady’s neck and tucked the ends in securely.
Good it was to see Miss Culpepper, proudly erect, beaming with benevolent condescension on such pedestrians as they met; good to hear the ecstatic comments she chirped into their sympathetic ears; to note, when they reached the cathedral just in time for the service, the superb dignity with which she advanced up the aisle, visibly fortified with the consciousness that she had “come in a motor-car.”
Verily she had the time of her life that sunny Sunday, as she told Grace, with tears in her kind old eyes, after dinner at the hotel, when Roger had gone to bring round the car for the homeward run.
“I’ve never had such a treat in all my long life before!” she cried. “And nobody has ever been so good to me as you two dear young people. I don’t know how to begin to thank you, only—God bless you both and send you the rich happiness you deserve all your lives!” Grace hugged her, and between smiles and tears Miss Culpepper continued: “Do you know there’s only one little thing in this happy, happy day I’d have wished different, and you’ll think it silly of me. But, though the lovely music in the cathedral thrilled me, I did wish they had chosen another anthem. ‘Hear my prayer, O Lord, incline Thine ear, consider my complaint,’ is most beautiful, but I couldn’t really echo it to-day, for I hadn’t any ‘complaint’ to make to Him. I’d have liked them to sing the Hallelujah Chorus, and I believe I should not only have stood up, but have joined in!”
Happy, happy day, with never a cloud to mar it!