serene, as a devout eye attuned to miracles should have beheld in that place.
She suspected this, herself, for she had seen the bridesmaids passing through that light before her. "I hope it's doing as well by me," she thought. "With this beautiful cream-white it ought to do even a lot better. Thank heaven everything's all right so far! I sha'n't begin to let my smile be more definite just yet—not till I reach the third pew from the end—and I mustn't forget to turn my head to the right and let a gentle little corner of the smile go to poor Mother after I've given Walter that look. He's there, waiting, of course; I'll be able to see him in a moment, poor thing! I'm getting married to him and this is my wedding—my wedding! It doesn't seem to be that. Why don't I realize it? How on earth does it happen? How does it come to be my wedding—if it really is! Am I in love with him? Is it because of that? Was it the contagion, after all? Am I getting married because 'all the rest' were getting married? What is my reason for it? Have I just been crazy? Good heavens, is it happening now?" And that "double" sense of hers was never more strongly with her than then, as she came down the aisle to be wedded. As audience, she saw herself distractedly asking these belated
