'What is?' he asked. 'To be a good woman?'
'Oh, you are not philosophical,' she said. 'And me—me too. My brain, what there was of it, is clean gone; my heart has got complete mastery. It is really ludicrous that my highest ambition, and my highest delight, should be to be able to say "I love you," and to go on saying it any number of times. But then, dear Frank, when all this nonsense is over between us, then we will set to work and try and do some good. There must be something for us to do in the world.'
'Oh yes, no doubt,' he said, 'and do you know when I think this nonsense will be over between you and me, Nan?—when you and I are lying dead together in Kingscourt churchyard.'
She touched his hand with her hand—for a moment.
'And perhaps not even then, Frank.'
* * * * * *
Well, it was a double wedding, after all; and Mr. Roberts was determined that it should be memorable in Brighton, if music, and flowers, and public charities would serve. Then Mr. and Mrs. Jack Hanbury were to come along from Southampton; and Mr. Jacomb had, in the most frank and manly fashion, himself asked permission to assist at the marriage ceremony. There were, of course, many presents; two of which were especially grateful to Nan. The first was a dragon-fly in rubies and diamonds, the box enclosing which was wrapped round by a sheet of note-paper really belonging to Her Majesty, and hailing from Whitehall. These were the words scrawled on the sheet of paper:—
'This is for the wedding of the BEAUTIFUL WRETCH, who has now completed the list of her atrocities by jilting her oldest sweetheart.—G. S.'
The second present that was particularly prized by Nan carries us on to the wedding-day. It was one of the clearest of clear June days; a fresh southerly wind tempering the heat; there was scarcely a cloud in the blue. How these rumours get about it is impossible to say; but a good many people seemed to have discovered that there was to be a double wedding; and there was an unusual crowd about the entrance to the church and along both sides of the roofed portico. Among these people was one who attracted a little mild polite curiosity. She was a country-looking, fresh-complexioned young woman, who was smartly dressed and trim as to ribbons and such things; and she held in her hand a basket of fairly good size and of fancy wicker-work. And this basket, those nearest her could see, held nothing else than a mass of wild roses, all with the thorns carefully removed from the stems, and set in a bed of moss and sweetbrier leaves. It was such a bouquet, surely, as had never been presented to a bride before—if, indeed, it was, intended for the bride.
That was soon to be seen. The great organ was still pealing out Mendelssohn's 'Wedding March' (Mr. Tom had offered to give 10 pounds to the poor-box of the choir if the choristers would play instead the Swedish 'Bring home the bride so fair!')—(forgetting that there were two brides, and that Edith was dark) when the first of the bridal procession came along, Edith and her husband and her bridesmaids. Then came Nan. As she was passing, the fresh-coloured wench timidly stepped forward and offered her the basket of wild roses. Nan stopped; glanced at her, and recognised her; and then, to the wonder of the crowd, they saw the young bride take the basket with her trembling white-gloved fingers, while the other hand was boldly put forward to shake hands with the country lass. Singing Sal was greatly taken aback; but she took Nan's hand for the briefest second, and managed to say something quite incoherent about 'long life and happiness, Miss—I beg your pardon, Miss—Ma'am;' and then the gleaming procession passed on.