"And then, as well as that, you _ought_ to love him. You see,
you've promised; it's all been made so sacred. You never forget it--the
clergyman, and the altar, and the hymns. You're all in white--veiled. And
you kneel there--before the altar--and he holds your hand. And the ring,
oh, Sancie, the feeling of the ring!" She opened her little hand and
looked down at the smoothed gold, coiled below the diamonds and pearls.
"You never forget the first feel of that. It means--everything!" She
blushed, and said, in a hushed sort of way, "It meant--Dickie, to me."
Sanchia drooped and bled. Vicky, deep in her holy joys, was remorseless.
Even when she turned once more to her sister's affairs her consolation
made wounds.
"Cuthbert said that it would come all right now--now that Mrs. Ingram-the
wife--was--That's rather horrible. Even you must feel that. Instead of
being sorry that his wife is dead, one has to be awfully glad. I suppose
you felt that at once; and of course _he_ did. Poor woman! I wonder if she
was buried in her ring." She eyed her own. "No one would dare take it off.
I made Cuthbert promise me this morning. But--of course people do marry
again, and it will be practically the same as that.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273