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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 300 pages of information about The Age of Innocence.

And now he and his wife were pacing slowly down the nave, carried forward on the light Mendelssohn ripples, the spring day beckoning to them through widely opened doors, and Mrs. Welland’s chestnuts, with big white favours on their frontlets, curvetting and showing off at the far end of the canvas tunnel.

The footman, who had a still bigger white favour on his lapel, wrapped May’s white cloak about her, and Archer jumped into the brougham at her side.  She turned to him with a triumphant smile and their hands clasped under her veil.

“Darling!” Archer said—­and suddenly the same black abyss yawned before him and he felt himself sinking into it, deeper and deeper, while his voice rambled on smoothly and cheerfully:  “Yes, of course I thought I’d lost the ring; no wedding would be complete if the poor devil of a bridegroom didn’t go through that.  But you did keep me waiting, you know!  I had time to think of every horror that might possibly happen.”

She surprised him by turning, in full Fifth Avenue, and flinging her arms about his neck.  “But none ever can happen now, can it, Newland, as long as we two are together?”

Every detail of the day had been so carefully thought out that the young couple, after the wedding-breakfast, had ample time to put on their travelling-clothes, descend the wide Mingott stairs between laughing bridesmaids and weeping parents, and get into the brougham under the traditional shower of rice and satin slippers; and there was still half an hour left in which to drive to the station, buy the last weeklies at the bookstall with the air of seasoned travellers, and settle themselves in the reserved compartment in which May’s maid had already placed her dove-coloured travelling cloak and glaringly new dressing-bag from London.

The old du Lac aunts at Rhinebeck had put their house at the disposal of the bridal couple, with a readiness inspired by the prospect of spending a week in New York with Mrs. Archer; and Archer, glad to escape the usual “bridal suite” in a Philadelphia or Baltimore hotel, had accepted with an equal alacrity.

May was enchanted at the idea of going to the country, and childishly amused at the vain efforts of the eight bridesmaids to discover where their mysterious retreat was situated.  It was thought “very English” to have a country-house lent to one, and the fact gave a last touch of distinction to what was generally conceded to be the most brilliant wedding of the year; but where the house was no one was permitted to know, except the parents of bride and groom, who, when taxed with the knowledge, pursed their lips and said mysteriously:  “Ah, they didn’t tell us—­” which was manifestly true, since there was no need to.

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