〃Wheres your hat; father; and your gloves?〃 cries the bride;
stamping her white slipper; her eyes flashing through her veil。
He hunts round……his hair is ruffled。 Everybody has gone but
the bride and her father。 He is ready……his face very red
and daunted。 Tilly dithers in the little porch; waiting to open
the door。 A waiting woman walks round Anna; who asks:
〃Am I all right?〃
She is ready。 She bridles herself and looks queenly。 She
waves her hand sharply to her father:
〃e here!〃
He goes。 She puts her hand very lightly on his arm; and
holding her bouquet like a shower; stepping; oh; very
graciously; just a little impatient with her father for being so
red in the face; she sweeps slowly past the fluttering Tilly;
and down the path。 There are hoarse shouts at the gate; and all
her floating foamy whiteness passes slowly into the cab。
Her father notices her slim ankle and foot as she steps up: a
childs foot。 His heart is hard with tenderness。 But she is in
ecstasies with herself for making such a lovely spectacle。 All
the way she sat flamboyant with bliss because it was all so
lovely。 She looked down solicitously at her bouquet: white roses
and lilies…of…the…valley and tube…roses and maidenhair
fern……very rich and cascade…like。
Her father sat bewildered with all this strangeness; his
heart was so full it felt hard; and he couldnt think of
anything。
The church was decorated for Christmas; dark with evergreens;
cold and snowy with white flowers。 He went vaguely down to the
altar。 How long was it since he had gone to be married himself?
He was not sure whether he was going to be married now; or what
he had e for。 He had a troubled notion that he had to do
something or other。 He saw his wifes bonnet; and wondered why
she wasnt there with him。
They stood before the altar。 He was staring up at the east
window; that glowed intensely; a sort of blue purple: it was
deep blue glowing; and some crimson; and little yellow flowers
held fast in veins of shadow; in a heavy web of darkness。 How it