The loud swelling pipes of the organ rolled forth their harmonious thunders, filling the air with waves, making the book on the vestry table throb beneath her hand. She was half laughing, half crying, and a shaft of sunlight danced about her head.
"Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," said Mr. Prentice, very, very kindly. "God bless you, my dear."
Another day's sun was shining on the bride. This was the third day of the wonderful, miraculously blissful honeymoon; and, with windows wide open and the sweet clean air blowing in upon them, the husband and wife lingered over their breakfast in the private sitting-room of the tremendous and magnificent Brighton hotel.
Presently Mr. Marsden got up, stretched himself; and, going to one of the windows, looked down at the sparkling brightness and pleasant gaiety of the King's Road.
"Now, little woman, I'm going to smoke my cigar outside.... You can put on your hat, and join me whenever you please."
Mrs. Marsden followed him to the window, sat upon the arm of a large velvet chair, and leaned her face against his coat sleeve.
"Take care," he said, laughing, "or you'll find yourself on the floor."
The chair had in fact shown signs of overturning, and Mrs. Marsden playfully pretended that she could not retain her position, and allowed herself to flop down upon her knees.
"Isn't this my right place, Dick—kneeling on the ground at your feet?"
Then with a gesture that would have been infinitely graceful in quite a young girl, she took his hand and held it to her lips.