“I do,” he said. Jane could hear him behind her, stepping back beside her mother. Then Dr. Winter took up his part, again, sonorously. Presently there was a barely perceptible pause in the familiar cadence of the ritual.
“I, Stephen, take thee, Jane,” said Stephen hastily.
Jane felt herself smiling. She was sorry for Stephen. When her turn came she was quite collected.
“I, Jane, take thee, Stephen, for my wedded husband,” the words were devoid of meaning. She could have said them all, unprompted by the clergyman. She had an odd sensation of playing a role. Dr. Winter was blessing the ring. They were putting it on her finger. Stephen was speaking again.
“With this ring I thee wed—” It stuck a bit, over the last knuckle. Stephen was still nervous. Dr. Winter had resumed. Suddenly the stringed orchestra swelled out into Mendelssohn. Jane’s main feeling was that it had all been over in a moment—this ceremony that everyone had been talking about for two weeks. Why—it was nothing. Stephen stooped to kiss her—a self-conscious little kiss—barely brushing her cheek. He became entangled in the tulle veil. Jane laughed up at him. She felt her mother’s arms about her. Then she was looking up into her father’s eyes.
“Kid, be happy,” he said, as he kissed her.
Everyone was around her then. Stephen’s mother was crying. Mr. Carver’s beard felt very bristly. Muriel’s cheek smelled of French toilet water. Freddy Waters’s hair of bay rum. Rosalie was saying “What a lovely dress!” Alden surprisingly kissed her. Silly was laughing at Stephen.
“Your form’s not up to par in the ring,” she was crying. “All right in the paddock, old boy, but you fell down in the show! Jane’s the prize entry. She gets the blue ribbon!”
“Come cut the cake!” cried Isabel. Everyone was kissed by now.
“Carry my train!” cried Jane to Stephen. She felt very lighthearted. He picked it up, laughing. He looked awfully happy. They led the crowd to the dining-room. Minnie handed Jane the knife, festooned with white satin. Jane dug into the bride’s cake, just under the sugar cupid. Everyone was applauding. The orchestra in the hall was playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” The groom’s cake was decorated with a little silken flag.
Jane sank down in her mother’s armchair at one end of the room. Stephen was standing beside her. People began to bring them food. Dr. Winter, with vestments removed, showed up to wish them happiness. She must go upstairs, soon, and change her dress. They were taking a six o’clock train. They were going up to The Dells, in northern Wisconsin. They had only a week before Stephen left for San Antonio. People were singing now. Alden had started “Fair Harvard.” All the men, old and young, knew the words. The male chorus swelled out very bravely, the orchestra accompanying softly:
“Fair Harvard, thy sons to thy jubilee throng,
And with blessings surrender thee o’er,
By these festival rites from the age that is past
To the age that is waiting before—”
Uncle Stephen, red-faced and white-headed, arm in arm with her father, was singing loudest of all and a little off key. It made Jane feel just a little chokey to look at them. All Harvard men, she thought, everyone except Freddy. Even Mr. Bert Lancaster. Freddy went to Yale. He was singing, though, very generously. The words were lovely, thought Jane, just as lovely as the air.
The song over, Stephen’s father raised his champagne glass.
“A toast to the bride!” he cried. Everyone drank it, cheering. When it was over Stephen crashed his goblet to the floor. Applause greeted the gallant gesture. Jane saw her mother, however, noting with gratitude that it was only a caterer’s class.
“I must go up,” said Jane. Stephen squeezed her hand.
“I’ll go with you,” said Isabel. Hand in hand they ran up the stairs. Minnie was waiting in Jane’s bedroom. The packed suitcase was lying on the bed.
“Stephen’s magnificent,” laughed Isabel, as she unhooked the wedding dress. Jane was removing the veil.
“I don’t believe the Rough Riders will ever see action,” said Isabel. “Robin says it will be a short war.”
“Alden thinks,” said Jane doubtfully, “that it will last forever. He says the Spanish fleet may bombard Boston.”
“That’s nonsense,” said Isabel promptly.
Jane stepped out of her wedding dress.
“Sit down,” said Minnie gruffly. “I’ll take off your slippers and stockings.” Jane sank down on the chair overlooking the willow tree. She had never been waited on like that before.
“Mr. Carver says,” said Jane, “that lots of Bostonians have taken their securities out of the Bay State Trust Company and put them in banks in Worcester.”
“They’re crazy,” said Isabel. Someone downstairs had ineptly started the orchestra on “Dollie Grey.” Everyone was singing it.
“Papa thinks they are,” said Jane. Minnie handed her her waist and skirt. Isabel busied herself with hooks once more. Mrs. Ward appeared in the doorway.
“Nearly ready, Jane?” she asked.
Jane picked up her hat from the bed. It was a pretty hat, with a wreath of bachelor’s buttons around it.
“In a minute,” said Jane, facing the mirror again. “It was a lovely wedding, Mamma.”
“I thought so,” said Mrs. Ward a little tremulously. Jane heard tears in her voice. Jane was determined to fight off sentiment.
“Mamma,” she said quickly, “I’ll be back in a week.”
That simple statement didn’t seem to make things any better.
“Jane dear,” said Mrs. Ward, “I can’t bear it—”
Mr. Ward appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Carver, your husband is waiting for you,” he said. Jane was very grateful for his twinkle.
“It won’t be the last time he’ll wait for me!” she laughed. She caught up her coat and kissed Isabel.
“I’ll take down the suitcase,” said
