The wedding-party was gathered together on the flagged path before the house. It greeted them with laughter and cries, cheerfully ironic.
The bride in her traveling dress stood on the threshold. Outside the carriage waited at the open gate.
Rowcliffe took Mary's hand in his and they ran down the path.
"He can sprint fast enough now," said Rowcliffe's uncle.
* * * * *
But his youngest cousin and Harker, his best friend, had gone faster. They were waiting together on the bridge, and the girl had a slipper in her hand.
"Were you ever," she said, "at such an awful wedding?"
Harker saw nothing wrong about the wedding but he admitted that his experience was small.
The youngest cousin was not appeased by his confession. She went on.
"Why on earth didn't Steven try to marry Gwenda?"