After that there was a blur of adieux, and Hobart Eddy kissed my hand and even when his machine had been started came running back in the moonlight to get from Karl the address of his mother “in the old country” so that he might cable to her and have her rejoicing by next morning. No, never tell me that any man is mere idler and dilettante, for I have seen the heart of one such and hereafter I dare not disbelieve in any one.
They all swept down the moonlit drive, hands waving, motor horns sounding; and the haughty Scotch butler in full Highland costume stood between two pillars and played his bagpipe to speed them on their way. The door of the tonneau of the last motor had just been hospitably opened with the offer to set down the Reverend Arthur Didbin in the village when that gentleman, his gray hair blowing, hurried to where Pelleas and I were standing.
“But,” he said anxiously, “did you not wish me for something? Did you not wish—”
At that Pelleas and I looked away from each other in sudden consternation and then with one accord smiled and shook our heads. With our assurance he turned away and in silence we watched him down the drive. And after the last motor had disappeared behind the shrubbery Pelleas and I lingered alone in the moonlit portal breathing in the roses, and still we did not meet each other’s eyes. But when there was at last no excuse for our waiting there longer I looked up at him shamefacedly enough.
“Pelleas,” I faced the truth, but solemnly lest he should imagine that I was not filled with regret at our neglect, “Pelleas, we forgot our golden wedding.”
“But there has been a golden wedding all the same,” said Pelleas.
However, in fear of what the balcony of roses would think of our defection, we stepped out there for a moment on our way upstairs. And there Pelleas said over something that is a kind of bridal song for a Golden Wedding:—
“My own, confirm me! If I tread
This path back, is it not in pride