Suddenly Gloria began to laugh hysterically, uncontrollably.  Gratton whipped back and stared at her; Summerling and Jarrold were mystified.  She looked so little like laughter!  And, as both had cause to regard the situation, there was so little call for laughter.  But they could have no clue to Gloria’s thoughts.  Her wedding!  With that insignificant little grey man in his cheap wrinkled clothes to officiate; with that unshaven, leering, dirty man to witness!  Holy matrimony!  Gloria Gaynor’s wedding!  She was near madness with the hideous, cruel travesty of such weddings as are dear to the hearts of San Francisco “society” girls.

The “judge” was clearing his throat again.  She looked at him curiously, with the odd sensation that while Gloria Gaynor was asleep, drugged into a deep stupor, there was within her another Gloria who took a keen interest in the smallest happenings.

“This affair ain’t any more regular than it ought to be,” he was saying.  “Now, just the matter of the licence——­”

Gratton jerked about and glared at him.  The “judge” broke off with a vehement clearing of his throat.  In a moment he spoke again.

“Seein’ as both parties want to get married,” he said hastily, “and as circumstances is what they is—­keepin’ in mind how circumstances does alter cases—­well then—­are you ready?”

That “Are you ready?” seemed to explode like a pistol shot in Gloria’s ears.  Something within her shrieked:  “No, no, no!” Gratton had said a quiet “Yes,” and was looking at her.  She heard herself saying faintly:  “Yes.”

Gratton put out his hand as though to help her down the last step.  She made a little gesture, motioning him back.  He bit at his lip and obeyed, though with a quick flash of the eyes.  Gloria looked down at the step.  About six inches high, and yet—­and yet where she stood was as high as heaven, down there as deep as hell.  She seemed powerless to achieve that last step.  But Gratton was stirring restlessly; he would put out his hand again to help her.  She shuddered and moved quickly.  Now she stood on the same level as Gratton and the others; the physical fact was sinister as though symbolical of the psychical.

The “judge” began to grow vastly businesslike.  He must have the full names correctly, ages, birthplaces.  Gratton answered for himself and for Gloria, who stood now with her hand on the back of a chair just within the living-room door.  Across the room was the fireplace; over it an ornamental mirror.  She wondered dully what she looked like; the “bride”!  But from where she stood she could see only the reflection of the window across the room, the strip of curtain at the side stirring softly in the evening breeze.  That breeze came down through the pines; it wandered free; why couldn’t she, Gloria, be like that?  She thought poignantly of her few days among the pines with Mark King.  Oh, the remembered glory of it, the clean, sweet freedom of it.