“It is wonderful,” she said tremulously. The man laughed. “I am yours,” she added.
“Mine!” he replied.
“Everything that I was before is done. I am someone else. There is no more the old Clarinda. Don’t you think it is wonderful? Think of it, a few words, a motion of the hand, a prayer intoned by an old man and everything that one has been is dead.”
“Yes, it is wonderful, Clarinda. You are mine,” the man replied, and added as an afterthought, “until death do us part, for richer or for poorer; in sickness and in health.”
Clarinda withdrew herself from his arms and sat straight up in the car. She looked him steadily in the face.
“Let no man put asunder what God hath joined together,” she said with deep feeling.
“Those are the words,” he answered.
Through the streets, over the stones, around the corners, through the unheeding many who were swept by their own necessities, the car rushed as if it wished to deliver itself as quickly as possible of the freight it carried.
The keeper of the lodge, at the beginning of the garden stood waiting at the gate. As they passed he bowed low to the ground. His face was covered with a sinister smile. His hat touched the immaculate driveway, as it had done when they went out.
They came to the house. The bridesmaids arrived in various cars and collected about her. Her old father took her kindly in his arms. Her mother pressed a kiss upon her face. The music from the organ at the end of the hall played loudly and a childish voice sang alone, “O Perfect Love.”