"If you'd only told me--"
She smiled again, a smile as of infinite wisdom. "Dear Steven, there
was nothing to tell."
They had come to the door in the wall. It led into the garden. He
opened to let her pass through.
The wedding-party was gathered together on the flagged path before the
house. It greeted them with laughter and cries, cheerfully ironic.
The bride in her traveling dress stood on the threshold. Outside the
carriage waited at the open gate.
Rowcliffe took Mary's hand in his and they ran down the path.
"He can sprint fast enough now," said Rowcliffe's uncle.
* * * * *
But his youngest cousin and Harker, his best friend, had gone faster.
They were waiting together on the bridge, and the girl had a slipper
in her hand.
"Were you ever," she said, "at such an awful wedding?"
Harker saw nothing wrong about the wedding but he admitted that his
experience was small.
The youngest cousin was not appeased by his confession. She went on.
"Why on earth didn't Steven _try_ to marry Gwenda?"
"Not much good trying," said the doctor, "if she wouldn't have him."
"You believe that silly story? I don't. Did you see her face?"
Harker admitted that he had seen her face.
And then, as the carriage passed, Rowcliffe's youngest cousin did an
odd thing. She tossed the slipper over the bridge into the beck.
Harker had not time to comment on her action. They were coming for him
from the house.
Rowcliffe's youngest sister-in-law had fainted away on the top
landing.
Everybody remembered then that it was she who had been in love with
him.