Thrown into a continuous semi-intimacy the two young people reacted as might have been expected and soon the imperturbable Arthur gravely declared himself. Mrs. Lockhart preserved a grim neutrality in the affair. True, his financial prospects were inclined to soften her, but with all that he was a Yankee and there existed a grave doubt as to the aristocracy of his connections. Her husband, who had visited the Merwents and had been considerably impressed by the prosperity evinced in their domestic establishment, was, however, positive in his approbation. This did not alter his wife’s opinion or change her attitude, for she was not accustomed to take his point of view seriously; but when a friend made a self imposed pilgrimage to the Merwent home and returned with enthusiastic corroboration of Mr. Lockhart’s report, Mrs. Lockhart relented and her negative aloofness became encouragement.
Nannie, who shared the common conviction that Arthur was a rising young lawyer and a desirable catch, consented to become engaged.
This did not hinder her from indulging in coquettish tricks of a number and variety that her fiancé found disconcerting.
Finally he brought things to an issue, refusing to be played with longer, and, after exhausting her ingenuity in the endeavor to gain more delay, she fixed the wedding day for a date four months ahead.
Twice in the midst of the work on the extensive trousseau, Nannie and Arthur quarrelled, and on each occasion she returned his ring. But the misunderstandings were adjusted and the wedding morning finally arrived.
Nannie had shown much interest in the more obvious preparations for the ceremony, insisting that her gowns must be of such and such a price, that her bridesmaids outnumber those of her previously married friends, and that the affair as a whole be conducted with an éclat which strained the resources of the Lockharts’ reduced finances to the uttermost.
Nevertheless, on the day before the wedding she showed herself to the household in a state of extraordinary depression, wandering listlessly from room to room, striking discordant notes on the piano, and finally, having fled from Arthur’s presence, she was discovered face downwards on an old horsehair sofa in a violent paroxysm of weeping.
Mrs. Lockhart, who had gone to seek her, was unable to elicit any explanation of her distress and called Merwent. But it was a mistake. Nannie turned on him with a storm of accusations.
“You’ve wrecked my life! I don’t know what’s to become of me!” she wailed.
“It’s not too late yet, Nannie,” Arthur answered. His voice was slightly unsteady and his eyes shone dangerously, but his manner was quiet.
“Oh! Oh! How dare you! I was never so insulted in my life! You don’t care how much disgrace and humiliation you heap on me! It doesn’t make any difference to you what they say about me!”
Arthur was left alone. He sat on the sofa Nannie had quitted and held his head in his hands. After a few moments he rose and lighted a cigar. He was smoking when Mrs. Lockhart came in search of him a quarter of an hour later. She brought with her a glass of hot eggnog which she had made to comfort him.
“It’s all the perfectly natural result of her high strung state,” remarked Mrs. Lockhart emphatically. “You must remember this is the last day of her girlhood,” she added in a significant manner.
Arthur drank the eggnog and said nothing.
The next day, however, Nannie was radiant. Her mother and her cousin, Mrs. Sheldon, had helped to dress her. The wedding gown bore the mark of an expensive Louisville house, the bouquet was of white orchids, and the diamond pendant which Arthur had given her, though modestly small and fragile, glittered becomingly on her plump throat.
Arthur entered the church gravely, his head bent, and even as Nannie came toward him at the chancel rail he did not lift his eyes. It was only as they stood side by side that he glanced at her face. Every trace of depression had vanished. She held her head high with the slightly insolent air that she had so often been told was aristocratic, and she really looked prettier than he had ever seen her.
The recessional was played. As the bridal couple emerged from the church he turned slightly toward her.
“Well, Nannie,” he whispered, smiling a little.
They were close to the carriage steps. Arthur moved back to assist her. By some chance awkwardness his heel caught in a loop of satin. There was a tearing sound and Nannie flung herself from his grasp.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
An impassioned but enigmatic “Ah!” was her only reply, and until the house was reached she sat far away from him on the carriage cushions, replying in monosyllables until Arthur relapsed into moody silence. When they arrived at their destination Nannie left the carriage hurriedly and unassisted.
A supper had been planned but the hour of the departure of the train they were to take prevented their presence. There was, however, no way to escape the brief reception. At this function Nannie, who had looked almost defiantly spirited during the ceremony, assumed a sudden appearance of disconcerting melancholy. The pair stood under an arch of smilax, and Nannie could see herself quite plainly in the long pier glass opposite and appreciated how large and dark her eyes seemed in the shadows that fell on her face.
The affair as a whole was not gay. Mrs. Lockhart shed a few impressive tears, glancing somewhat apprehensively from time to time at her daughter’s unresponsive features. Bob White had come to the reception, being herself engaged. Nannie greeted her with effusive sadness and clasped her in an embrace that was like a despairing renewal of devotion. The two girls talked in low tones, and Arthur was conscious of
