riage; Rose who had -- well, yes, there was no other
word for it -- coaxed them both into realizing that it
was the only thing to do.

Even now, on this their wedding day, they felt awkward,
and yes, very shy the one with the other. And
as he sat there by her side, wearing a rough grey suit
he had often worn last winter when calling on her in
the Trellis House, her cheeks grew hot when she remembered
the letter she had written to him. Perhaps
he had thought it an absurdly sentimental letter for a
woman of her age to write.

The only thing that reassured her was the fact that
once, at luncheon, he had clasped her hand under the
table; but the door had opened, and quickly he had
taken his hand away, and even moved his chair a little
farther off. It was true that Howse had put the chairs
very close together.

Now she was telling him of all that had happened
since he had gone away, and he was listening with the
eager sympathy and interest he had always shown her,
that no one else had ever shown her in the same degree,
in those days that now seemed so long ago, before
the War.

So she went on, pouring it all out to him, till she
came to the amazing story of her daughter Rose, and
of Jervis Blake. She described the strange, moving
little marriage ceremony; and the man sitting by her
side sought and found the soft hand which was very
close to his, and said feelingly, "That must have been
very trying for _you."_

Yes, it had been trying for her, though no one had
seemed to think so at the time. But he, the speaker of

[[321]]

p320 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p321w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p322

v?