“Entirely,” cried Dan.  The old sweetness came into his laughing eyes again, and went to Mrs. Brinkley’s heart.  She wished him to be happy, somehow; she would have done anything for him; she wished she knew what to do.  Ought she to tell him the Pasmers were there?  Ought she to make up some excuse and get him away before he met them?  She felt herself getting more and more bewildered and helpless.  Those women might come round that corner any moment and then she know the first sight of Alice’s face would do or undo everything with Dan.  Did she wish them reconciled?  Did she wish them for ever parted?  She no longer knew what she wished; she only knew that she had no right to wish anything.  She continued to talk on with Dan, who grew more and more at ease, and did most of the talking, while Mrs. Brinkley’s whole being narrowed itself to the question.  Would the Pasmers come back that way, or would they go round the further corner, and get into the hotel by another door?

The suspense seemed interminable; they must have already gone that other way.  Suddenly she heard the pushing back of chairs in that recess.  She could not bear it.  She jumped to her feet.

“Just wait a moment, Mr. Mavering!  I’ll join you again.  Mr. Brinkley is expecting—­I must—­”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

One morning of the following June Mrs. Brinkley sat well forward in the beautiful church where Dan and Alice were to be married.  The lovely day became a still lovelier day within, enriched by the dyes of the stained windows through which it streamed; the still place was dim yet bright with it; the figures painted on the walls had a soft distinctness; a body of light seemed to irradiate from the depths of the dome like lamp-light.

There was a subdued murmur of voices among the people in the pews:  they were in a sacred edifice without being exactly at church, and they might talk; now and then a muffled, nervous laugh escaped.  A delicate scent of flowers from the masses in the chancel mixed with the light and the prevailing silence.  There was a soft, continuous rustle of drapery as the ladies advanced up the thickly carpeted aisles on the arms of the young ushers and compressed themselves into place in the pews.

Two or three people whom she did not know were put into the pew with Mrs. Brinkley, but she kept her seat next the aisle; presently an usher brought up a lady who sat down beside her, and then for a moment or two seemed to sink and rise, as if on the springs of an intense excitement.

It was Miss Cotton, who, while this process of quiescing lasted, appeared not to know Mrs. Brinkley.  When she became aware of her, all was lost again.  “Mrs. Brinkley!” she cried, as well as one can cry in whisper.  “Is it possible?”

“I have my doubts,” Mrs. Brinkley whispered back.  “But we’ll suppose the case.”

“Oh, it’s all too good to be true!  How I envy you being the means of bringing them together, Mrs. Brinkley!”