the Alberian Embassy. Not a
word passed between them, but Reckage, under his eyelids, examined every
detail of his friend's attire. He wondered at its satisfactoriness on
the whole, inasmuch as Orange had not seen fit to consult him on the
point. The church was small and grey and sombre; the flowers on the
altar (sent by his lordship) were all white; their perfume filled the
building.

"They look very nice," said Reckage, "and in excellent taste. Some of
these old pictures on the wall are uncommonly good, and I particularly
like that bronze crucifix. Ten to one if it isn't genuine eleventh
century. I will ask the old fellow afterwards. He's a dear. His Latin is
lovely. It's an artistic pleasure to hear him read the Gospel. I looked
in the other morning, just to get the run, as it were, of the place. By
Jove! Here they are."

Pensee Fitz Rewes came first--very graceful in lavender silk, and
accompanied by her little boy, who showed by an unconscious anxiety of
expression that he felt instinctively his mother's air of contentment
was assumed. Then Baron Zeuill, with Brigit on his arm, followed. The
Baron looked grave--too grave for the happy circumstances. Brigit seemed
as pale as the lilies on the altar; she was less beautiful but more
ethereal than usual. There was something frail, transparent,
unsubstantial about her that day which Robert had never noticed before.
Had the many emotional strains of the last year tried her delicate youth
beyond endurance? She seemed very childish, too, and immature. She took
Orange's hand when he met her, held it closely, and watched the others
with a kind of wonder most pitiful to witness--as though she had
suffered too much from her contact with life and could no more. Her eyes
seemed darker than the sapphires to which Robert had so often compared
them: this effect, he told himself, was due to the strong contrast given
by the pallor of her face. It was quite clear, however, that she was
not under the influence then of any dominant thought. Her nerves and
senses were strained to that extreme tension resembling apathy, until
the vibration given by some touch or tone sets the whole system
trembling with all the spiritual and bodily forces which make the
mystery of human life. She spoke her responses, signed the register, and
walked out from the church on Robert's arm without a single change of
countenance or token of feeling. As they drove away from the church, she
flushed a little and