Turner of Northlade was Arthur Alce’s best man, and there were four bridesmaids dressed in pink—­Maudie Vine, Gertrude Prickett, Maggie Southland and Ivy Cobb.  They carried bouquets of roses with lots of spiraea, and wore golden hearts “the gift of the bridegroom.”  Altogether the brilliance of the company made up for the deficiencies of its barn-like setting and the ineffectiveness of Mr. Pratt, who, discomposed by the enveloping presence of Joanna, blundered more helplessly than ever, so that, as Joanna said afterwards, she was glad when it was all finished without anyone getting married besides the bride and bridegroom.

After the ceremony there was a breakfast at Ansdore, with a wedding-cake and ices and champagne, and waiters hired from the George Hotel at Rye.  Ellen stood at the end of the room shaking hands with a long procession of Pricketts, Vines, Furneses, Southlands, Bateses, Turners, Cobbs....  She looked a little tired and droopy, for she had had a trying day, with Joanna fussing and fighting her ever since six in the morning; and now she felt resentfully that her sister had snatched the splendours of the occasion from her to herself—­it did not seem right that Joanna should be the most glowing, conspicuous, triumphant object in the room, and Ellen, unable to protest, sulked languishingly.

However, if the bride did not seem as proud and happy as she might, the bridegroom made up for it.  There was something almost spiritual in the look of Arthur Alce’s eyes, as he stood beside Ellen, his arm held stiffly for the repose of hers, his great choker collar scraping his chin, lilies of the valley and camellias sprouting from his buttonhole, a pair of lemon kid gloves—­split at the first attempt, so he could only hold them—­clutched in his moist hand.  He looked devout, exalted, as he armed his little bride and watched her sister.

“Arthur Alce looks pleased enough,” said Furnese to Mrs. Bates—­“reckon he sees he’s got the best of the family.”

“Maybe he’s thankful now that Joanna wouldn’t take him.”

Neither of them noticed that the glow was in Alce’s eyes chiefly when they rested on Joanna.

He knew that to-day he had pleased her better than he had ever pleased her in his life.  To-day she had said to him “God bless you, Arthur—­you’re the best friend I have, or am like to have, neither.”  To-day he had made himself her kinsman, with a dozen new opportunities of service.  Chief among these was the dear little girl on his arm—­how pretty and sweet she was!  How he would love her and cherish her as he had promised Mr. Pratt!  Well, thank God, he had done Joanna one good turn, and himself not such a bad one, neither.  How clever she had been to think of his marrying Ellen!  He would never have thought of it himself; yet now he saw clearly that it was a wonderful notion—­nothing could be better.  Joanna was valiant for notions....  Alce had had one glass of champagne.