"
* * * * *
When all the glory of that happy day hung in crimson low down in the
west, like a chariot of fire in which Mike and Esther were speeding to
their paradise, Henry walked with Angel, homeward through the streets of
Tyre, solemn with sunset. In both that happy day still lived like music
richly dying.
"Well," said Angel, in words far too practical for such a sunset, "I am
so glad it all went off so well. Poor dear Mrs. Mesurier, how bonny she
looked! And your dear old Aunt Tipping! Fancy her hiding there in
the church--"
"Of course we'd asked her," said Henry; "but, poor old thing, she
didn't feel grand enough, as she would say, to come publicly."
"And your poor father! Fancy him coming home for the lunch like that!"
"After all, it was logical of him," said Henry. "I suppose he had made
up his mind that he would resist as long as it was any use, and after
that--gracefully give in. And he was always fond of Mike."
"But didn't Esther cry, when he kissed her, and said that, since she'd
chosen Mike, he supposed he must choose him too.
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