At twelve o’clock the bride is led to the marriage-chamber and undressed; the lights are blown out, and the bridegroom is brought to the door by the best man, who gives him the key; then the door is shut and locked, and the revels rise higher than ever. There is no thought of sleep till morning, and no unoccupied spot where sleep may be found.
It was at this stage of the proceedings on the night of Tant Sannie’s wedding that Lyndall sat near the doorway in one of the side-rooms, to watch the dancers as they appeared and disappeared in the yellow cloud of dust. Gregory sat moodily in a corner of the large dancing-room. His little betrothed touched his arm.
“I wish you would go and ask Lyndall to dance with you,” she said; “she must be so tired; she has sat still the whole evening.”
“I have asked her three times,” replied her lover shortly. “I’m not going to be her dog, and creep to her feet, just to give her the pleasure of kicking me—not for you, Em, nor for anybody else.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had asked her, Greg,” said his little betrothed, humbly; and she went away to pour out coffee.
Nevertheless, some time after Gregory found he had shifted so far round the room as to be close to the door where Lyndall sat. After standing for some time he inquired whether he might not bring her a cup of coffee.
She declined; but still he stood on (why should he not stand there as well as anywhere else?), and then he stepped into the bedroom.
“May I not bring you a stove, Miss Lyndall, to put your feet on?”
“Thank you.”
He sought for one, and put it under her feet.