e to the forthcoming marriage of the "best
man," and expressed the faltering hope that "dear Agnes would be as
happy as dear Brigit." Reckage scowled. Rennes was seized with a fit of
coughing. It was the one unlucky hit in the whole conversation, and it
was soon forgotten by every one present except Orange, who remembered
it frequently in later days. At last the hour for departure came.
Pensee, weeping, kissed Brigit on both cheeks, looked into her grave
eyes long and lovingly, put her arms around the slight, girlish form
with that exquisite, indefinable tenderness, unconscious,
unpremeditated, and protective, which married women show toward very
youthful brides. Robert handed his wife into the brougham, the order was
given "To Waterloo," the horses started, rice and slippers were thrown.

"They go into the world for the first time," exclaimed Rennes.

Then Pensee was assisted into the barouche, and drove homewards.

"We shall meet again," she said, as she parted from Reckage; "we meet at
Sara's at lunch."

The two men were thus left alone. They decided to smoke, for they were
both a little affected by the pathos of the situation.

"Explain Robert," said his lordship, as they returned to the
dining-room, "explain that kind of love. You are an artist."

"Well, it isn't my way," rejoined the other, with a forced laugh, "but
there are many manifestations of personal magnetism."

"This kind is very interesting," said Reckage, "although it is, of
course, high-flown. Orange is romantic and scrupulous--he knows next to
nothing of the sensual life; and that next to nothing is merely a source
of disgust and remorse. You follow me?"

"Perfectly," said Rennes. "It is a question of temperament. The wonder
is that he has not entered, in some delirium of renunciation, the
priesthood."

"That would mean, for his gifts, a closed career. It beats my wits to
guess how this marriage will turn out. He is madly in love. He has
suffered frightfully. Too much moral anguish has a depraving effect in
the long run."

"I am not so sure of that."

"I think so, at any rate. Now many a decent sort of fellow can get along
well enough--if he has a woman to his taste and wine which he considers
good. You observe I condense the situation as much as possible. But
Orange is different."

"Not so different--except in degree, or experience. At present, he
oscillates between the woe of love and the joy of life. You compared him
to St. Augustine