Bertram looked so handsome at this moment, so pale, so dignified, that every woman in the church fell in love with him. Miss Peters sighed audibly, and even shed a tear for the memory of that Sam, who had never proposed for her, but had been attentive, and had died thirty years ago.
Matty Bell felt quite a little tumult in her heart. No, no, whatever her mother might say her Bayard was not like Beatrice's Bayard. She did not even want to look at her Gusty this moment.
Bertram stood before the altar and waited.
The bride!
There was a little buzz through the church. All the occupants of the pews rose; all heads were turned towards the door. In the excitement of the moment the Beatricites clasped the Hartites by the hands, Mrs. Bell's fat fingers rested on Mrs. Butler's shoulder.
The bride! She had come. Beatrice would marry Loftus Bertram. The Beatricites would conquer. Slander would die.
No, no. What was the matter? What was wrong? Was anything wrong?
A girl dressed in shimmering bridal clothes was walking up the church. A very slender and very pale girl. She was leaning on Mr. Ingram's arm; she was beautiful. There was an expression on her face which melted hearts, and made eyes brim over with tears. A bride was coming up the church—not Beatrice Meadowsweet—not the girl who was beloved by all the town.
Close behind the bride followed the principal bride's-maid. She was in a plain dress of white. Round her head she wore a wreath of white lilies, and in her hand she carried a bouquet of white flowers.
The other bride's-maids wore green silk sashes, and green with the marguerites which trimmed their broad hats.