Sampson.

“Some relative of the groom, I heard.”

“But I thought it was to be Helen Foster!”

“Oh, hadn’t you heard? There was an accident and Helen’s train was late. They had to get somebody at the last minute. Don’t you see her dress is different? It isn’t the same stuff, doesn’t stand out so stiff and crisp, and it’s terribly plain. Too bad! I heard the bridal party all had their dresses made off the same pattern.”

“I like it. It kind of fits her. Say, don’t they look wonderful together? I shouldn’t wonder if they’re engaged or something. Look at the way he looks at her! They certainly know each other well.”

“I love you,” John was saying in a low, thrilling voice, a voice that was almost like a prayer.

And Mary Elizabeth, quite conscious now of the many eyes upon her, kept that radiant smile upon her lips and the sparkle in her eyes as she looked up to catch the low words from his lips.

“But you couldn’t, of course, all at once like that!” she said, smiling as if it were a good joke. “Is this supposed to be the newest thing in proposals of marriage? I’ve never had one going down a wedding aisle, though I’ve been maid of honor several times before.”

She looked up at him archly with her sparkling smile to cover the trembling of her lips, the strange thrilling of her heart over this stranger’s words.

“Is there any reason why it shouldn’t be that?” he breathed as they neared the door and the wedding party began to mull about them in the vestibule. It seemed to him they had fairly galloped down that aisle.

“If my gloves had been off, I suppose you might have thought there was,” said Mary Elizabeth with a sudden memory in her eyes.

“Your gloves?” said John, looking down at the little scrap of a hand that lay there like a white leaf on his arm.

Then suddenly he laid his other hand upon hers with a quick investigating pressure, and looked at her aghast.

“Then—you mean—that I am too late?” he asked, caring not that they were now in the midst of the giggling bridesmaids whispering what mistakes they had made, and how this one and that one had looked.

“Oh, not necessarily!” said Mary Elizabeth, now with a wicked twinkle in her eyes. “It was only an experiment, wearing it tonight. It came in the mail a few days ago with a very persistent letter, and I thought I might try it out. But there’s nothing final about it!”

And Mary Elizabeth gave him a ravishing childlike smile that left him bewildered and utterly routed. He didn’t know whether she was trying to be flippant or merely making talk to cover any possible embarrassment, for they were right in the thick of the crowd now, with someone outside directing traffic loudly, and suddenly John realized that he was still best man and had duties about putting the bride and groom in the right car. He fled headlong into the street.

He was the fool, of course, he told himself. He had gone off on a whim, and no girl in her senses would take sudden words spoken like that seriously. Oh, he had probably messed the whole thing up now. She wouldn’t even recognize him when she got to the hotel, or would call a lot of her friends to protect her. What a fool! What a fool he had been! He hadn’t thought that he could ever be impulsive like that!

But when he had slammed the door on Jeff and his bride and turned about with his miserable eyes to see what he could see, and whether she was still in sight, someone caught him and whirled him into a car.

“Here, Saxon,” the unknown voice said, “get in quick! Jeff wants you there as soon as he is!” The car whirled away before he was fairly seated. In fact, he almost sat down on someone who was already there in the dark, sitting in the far corner.

He turned to apologize, and she laughed, a soft little silvery laugh.

“I bribed the valet to give us a whole car to ourselves,” she said gaily, “so that you could finish what you had to say.”

He caught his breath and his heart leaped up.

“Do you mean that you are going to forgive me for being so—so—so presumptuous?” he asked.

“Do you mean you didn’t mean what you said?” rippled out Mary Elizabeth’s laughing voice, the kind of a laugh that sometimes covers tears.

“Mean what I said?” said John, in the tone he often used to rebuke a boy whom he was coaching when he was scoutmaster in Florida. “I certainly did mean what I said!” he repeated doggedly. “And I’ll always mean it. But I know I ought not to have flung it out at you that way in public, only I didn’t see that I would ever get another chance if I didn’t do something about it right away.”

“Why, I didn’t mind that,” said Mary Elizabeth gravely. “It was quite original and interesting. It made the walk down the aisle unique. Something to remember!” There was a lilt in her voice that might be suppressed mirth. John eyed her suspiciously through the dark, but she sat there demurely in her corner, and he felt awed before her. Perhaps he had been mistaken and she was one of those modern girls after all.

But no! He remembered the haloed face, the lovely unpainted smile. He would never think that! She might not be for him, but she was what she seemed. She could not be otherwise.

“Yes,” he said, with a tinge of bitterness in his voice, “something for you to laugh about afterward! A country hick come to town to make a fool of himself, putting a girl in an embarrassing position in public!”

“No!” she said sharply. “Don’t say that! You didn’t! I wasn’t embarrassed! I liked it! I really did! I felt … honored!”

And suddenly one of the little white hands stole out of the darkness and crept into his hand with a gentle reassurance, and—it was ungloved!

He folded his hand about hers, marveling at its delicacy, its softness, the way it lay relaxed within his own strong hand.