n hand would drag
along and make him late to another appointment, "--is now and ever
shall be, world without end. Amen!" he sang fervently. Sylvia
repressed an hysterical desire to laugh.

The ceremony was over; the air in the building beat wildly against the
walls, the stained-glass windows, and the ears of the worshipers in
the excited tumult of the wedding-march; the procession began to
leave the chancel. This time Sylvia caught one clear glimpse of the
principals, but it meant nothing to her. They looked like wax effigies
of themselves, self-conscious, posed, emptied of their personalities
by the noise, the crowds, the congestion of ceremony. The idea
occurred to Sylvia that they looked as though they had taken in as
little as she the significance of what had happened. The people about
her were moving in relieved restlessness after the long immobility of
the wedding. The woman next her went down on her knees for a devout
period, her face in her white gloves. When she rose, she said
earnestly to her companion, "Do you know if I had to choose one
hat-trimming for all the rest of my life, I should make it small pink
roses in clusters. It's perfectly miraculous how, with black chiffon,
they _never_ go out!" She settled in place the great cluster of costly
violets at her breast which she seemed to have exuded like some
natural secretion of her plump and expensive person. "Why don't they
let us out!" she said complainingly.

A young man, one of those born to be a wedding usher, now came swiftly
up the aisle on patent leather feet and untied with pearl-gray fingers
the great white satin ribbon which restrained them in the pew. Sylvia
caught her aunt's eye on her, its anxiety rather less well hidden than
usual. With no effort at all the girl achieved a flashing smile. It
was not hard. She felt quite numb. She had been present only during
one or two painful, quickly passed moments.

But the reception at the house, the big, old-fashioned, very rich
Sommerville house, was more of an ordeal. There was the sight of the
bride and groom in the receiving-line, now no longer badly executed
graven images, but quite themselves--Molly starry-eyed, triumphant,
astonishingly beautiful, her husband distinguished, ugly,
self-possessed, easily the most interesting personality in the room;
there was the difficult moment of the presentation, the handclasp with
Felix, the rapturous vague kiss from Molly, evidently too uplifted to
have any