I still seem to hear the
organ, strains of "The Voice That Breathed Through Eden," as we neared
the altar; also the Mixer's rumbling whisper about a lost handkerchief
which she apparently found herself needing at that moment.
The responses of bride and groom were unhesitating, even firm. Her
ladyship, I thought, had never appeared to better advantage than in
the pearl-tinted lustreless going-away gown she had chosen. As always,
she had finely known what to put on her head.
Senator Floud, despite Belknap-Jackson's suggestion of himself for the
office, had been selected to give away the bride, as the saying is. He
performed his function with dignity, though I recall being seized with
horror when the moment came; almost certain I am he restrained himself
with difficulty from making a sort of a speech.
The church was thronged. I had seen to that. I had told her ladyship
that I should ask quite almost every one, and this I had done,
squarely in the face of Belknap-Jackson's pleading that discretion be
used. For a great white light, as one might say, had now suffused me.
I had seen that the moment was come when the warring factions of Red
Gap should be reunited. A Bismarck I felt myself, indeed. That I acted
ably was later to be seen.
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