“I think we had better walk back,” were the first words he said when they were outside. His manner was almost cowering, little enough like a bridegroom.
“My darling, don’t you think people would guess?” she whispered.
“You need not be afraid. We don’t look much like a wedding-party,” he answered grimly.
“No, my love, I fear not. But you do not mind?”
“No,” and they walked on in silence. Then she spoke again, her voice tremulous with emotion—
“I feel, my darling, as if I could not have borne it if there had been more signs of our joyousness. It is too sacred; it is the day of my life,” she whispered to herself.
“I hope there will be some sunshine at Hastings,” he said, as if he did not in the least understand what she was talking about. He had hardly listened to her.
“I hope so, my darling,” she answered gently; “and in your life too. I will try to put it there, Alfred.”
He turned and looked at her with an expression that seemed half shame and half shrinking.
“It will be warmer at Hastings,” he said, as if at a loss for words.