thought, and
quite unaffected by the deeper elements that gave to this quiet wedding
in a country house a breath of tragedy. Betty Alston Planter! That
evolution clearly meant happiness for her. She tried to express it
through vivacious gestures and cheerful, uncompleted sentences. Betty
next--after a tiny interval, entering not without hesitation exposed in
her walk, in her tall and graceful figure, in her face which was
unaccustomedly colourful, in her eyes which turned from one to another,
doubtful, apprehensive, groping. George didn't want to look at her; her
appearance placed him too much in concord with her reluctant father; too
much in the position of a man making a hurtful and unasked oblation.

Momentarily Betty, the portion of his past shared with her, its
undeveloped possibilities, were swept from his brain. Last of all,
fitting and brilliant close for the procession, came Sylvia between two
bridesmaids. George scarcely saw the others. Sylvia filled his eyes, his
heart, slowly crowded the dissatisfaction from his mind, centred again
his thoughts and his ambitions. Nearly automatically he took Betty's
hands, spoke to her a few formalities, yielded her to her father, and
went on to Sylvia. For nearly two years he hadn't seen her in an evening
gown. What secret did she possess that kept her constant? Already she
was past the age at which most girls of her station marry, yet to him
her beauty had only increased without quite maturing. And why had she
calmly avoided during all these years the nets thrown perpetually by
men? Only Blodgett had threatened to entangle her, and one day had found
her fled. And she wasn't such a fool she didn't know the years were
slipping by. More poignantly than ever he responded to a feeling of
danger, imminent, unavoidable, fatal.

"My companion in the ceremonies," he said.

"I understood that was the arrangement," she answered, without looking
at him.

"I'm glad," he said, "to draw even a reflection from the happiness of
others."

"I often wonder," she remarked, "why people are so selfish."

"Do you mean me," he laughed, "or the leading man and lady?"

She spoke softly to avoid the possibility of anyone else hearing.

"I'm not sure, but I fancy you are the most selfish person I have ever
met."

"That's a stupendous indictment these days," he said with a smile, but
he didn't take her seriously at all, didn't apply her charge to his
soul.

"I'm so glad you're here," he w