When it was all over Judith Dearborn went upstairs with Juliet to help her
dress for her going away. The maid-of-honour looked about the
blue-and-white room with thoughtful eyes.
"This is certainly the dearest room I ever saw," she said. "Oh, Juliet, do
you think you really will be happy here?"
"What do you think about it, dear?" asked Juliet.
"Oh--I--well, really--I never imagined that a little old house like this
could be made so awfully attractive. But, Juliet--you--you must be very,
very fond of Anthony to give up so many things. How well he looked to-day.
Seems to me he's grown gloriously in every way since he--since his family
came into so many misfortunes."
Juliet smiled, but answered nothing.
"And you're so different, too. Never in my life would I have imagined you
having a wedding like this--and yet it's been absolutely the prettiest one
I ever saw. That's a sweet gown to go away in--but it's the simplest thing
you ever wore, I'm sure. Juliet, where are you going?"
"We are going to drive through the Berkshires in a cart."
"Juliet Marcy!"
"'Robeson,'" corrected Juliet with a little laugh, but in a tone which it
was a pity Anthony could not hear. "Don't forget that. I'm so proud of the
name. And I think a drive through the Berkshires will be a perfectly ideal
trip."
Judith Dearborn was not assisting the bride at all. Instead she was
sitting in a chair, staring at Juliet with much the same abstraction of
manner observable in the best man throughout the day.
"Of course you didn't need to live this way," observed Miss Dearborn at
length. "You could have afforded to live much more expensively."
"No, I couldn't," said Juliet with a flash in her eyes, though she smiled;
"I couldn't have afforded to do one thing that would hurt Tony's pride.
Why, Judith--he's a 'Robeson of Kentucky.'"
"Well, he looks it," admitted Judith. "And you're a Marcy of
Massachusetts. The two go well together. Juliet, do you know--somehow--I
thought it was a fearful sacrifice you were making, even for such a man as
Anthony--but--this blue-and-white room----"
"Ah, this blue-and-white room----" repeated Juliet. Then she came over and
dropped on her knees by her friend in her impulsive way and put both arms
around her. The plain little going-away gown touched folds with the one
whose elegance was equalled only by its cost. Anthony Robeson's wife
looked straight up into the eyes of her maid-of-honour and whispered:
"Judith, don't put Wayne--and--your blue-and-white room off too long. You
will not be any happier to wait--if you love him."
* * * * *
Drawn up close to the door stood the cart. Beside it waited Anthony.
Around the cart crowded twenty people. When Juliet came through them to
say good-bye the son of the Bishop murmured:
"Er--Mrs. Robeson----"
"Yes, Mr. Farnham----" said Juliet promptly, her delicate flush answering
the name, as it had answered it many times that day.
"When are you going to be at home to your friends?"
"The fifteenth day of October," said Juliet. "And from then on, every day
in the week, every week in the year. Come and see us--everybody. But don't
expect any formal invitations."
"I'll be down," declared the Bishop's son. "I'll be down once a week."
"Please don't stay long after we are gone," requested Anthony, putting his
bride into the cart and springing in beside her. He gathered up the reins.
"Good-bye," he called. "Take this next train home. It goes in an hour.
Lock the door, Carey, and hang the key up in plain sight by the window
there. We live in the country now, and that's the way we do.
Good-bye--good-bye!"
Then he drove rapidly away down the road.
"And that pair," said the son of the Bishop gravely, looking after them
and speaking to the company in general, "married, so to speak, in a
hay-wagon, and going for a wedding trip in a wheel-barrow through the
Berkshires, is Juliet Marcy and Anthony Robeson."
"No, my son," said the Bishop slowly--and everybody always listened when
the Bishop spoke: "It is Anthony and Juliet Robeson--and that makes all
the difference. I think two happier young people I never married. And may
God be with them."
The best man said that he and the maid-of-honour would walk the half-mile
to the station. The son of the Bishop and the sister of the best man had
already taken this course without saying anything about it. Nearly
everybody murmured something about it being a lovely evening and a
glorious sunset and a charming road, and, pairing off advisedly, adopted
the same plan. The Bishop and Mrs. Bishop, Mrs. Dingley and Mr. Marcy
decided on being driven over to the station in a light surrey provided for
this anticipated emergency.
The best man and the maid-of-honour succeeded in dropping behind the rest
of the pedestrians. Their friends were used to that, and let them
mercifully alone.
"Mighty pretty affair," observed Carey in a melancholy tone.
"Yes--in its way," admitted Judith Dearborn with apparent reluctance.
"Cosy house."
"Very."
"Tony seemed happy."
"Ecstatic." Judith's inflection was peculiar.
"Nobody would have suspected Juliet of feeling blue about living off
here."
"She doesn't seem to."
"What's made the difference?"
"Anthony Robeson, probably."
"Must seem pretty good to him to have her care like that."
"I presume so."
"It isn't everybody that could inspire such an--affection--in such a
girl."
"No, indeed."
Carey looked intensely gloomy. The two walked on in silence, Miss Dearborn
studying the sunset, Carey studying Miss Dearborn. Suddenly he spoke
again.
"Judith, do all our plans for the future seem as desirable to you as they
did this morning?"
"Which ones?"
"Apartment in the locality we've picked out--life in the style the
locality calls for--and _wait_ for it all until I'm _gray_----" with a
burst of tremendous energy. "Good heavens, darling, what's the use?
Why--if I could have you and a little home like that----"
He bit his lip hard. The maid-of-honour walked on, her head turned still
farther away than before. They were nearing the station. Just ahead lay a
turn in the road--the last turn. The rest of the party, with a shout back
at this dilatory pair, disappeared around it. From the distance came the
long, shrill whistle of the approaching train.
The maid-of-honour glanced behind: there was not a soul in sight; ahead:
and saw nothing to alarm a girl with an impulse in her heart. At a point
where great masses of reddening sumac hid a little dip in the road from
everything earthly she stopped suddenly, and turning, put out both hands.
She looked up into a face which warmed on the instant into a
half-incredulous joy and said very gently: "You may."
* * * * *
The sun had been gone only two hours, and the soft early autumn darkness
had but lately settled down upon the silent little house, waiting alone
for its owners to come back some October day, when a cart, driven slowly,
rolled along the road. In front of the house it stopped.
"Where are we?" asked Juliet's voice. "This is a private house. I thought
we--Why, Tony--do you see?--We've come around in a circle instead of going
on to that little inn you spoke of. This is--_home_!"
"Is it?" said Anthony's voice in a tone of great surprise. "So it is!" He
leaped out and came around to Juliet's side. "What a fluke!" But the happy
laugh in his voice betrayed him.
"Anthony Robeson," cried Juliet softly, "you need not pretend to be
surprised. You meant to do it."
"Did I?" He reached out both arms to take her down. "Perhaps I did. Do you
mind--Mrs. Robeson? Shall we go on?"
Juliet looked down at him. "No, I don't think I mind," she said.
He swung her down, and they went slowly up the walk. "Somehow," said
Anthony Robeson, looking up at the house, lying as if asleep in the
September night, "when I thought of taking you to that little public inn,
and then remembered that we might have this instead--We can go on with our
wedding journey to-morrow, dear-but--to-night----"
He led her silently upon the porch. He found the key, where in jest he had
bade his best man put it, and unlocked the door and threw it open.
He stepped first upon the threshold, and, turning, held out his arms.
"Come," he said, smiling in the darkness.