‘I wish she’d go,’ Alison thought. ‘She makes it all seem so cheap and-and worldly.’

Then she suddenly remembered about the cablegram from Buenos Aires.

‘Oh, Aunt Lydia -’

‘I can’t wait now,’ her aunt said. ‘It’s time I went. If the first arrivals are late it means the whole thing is disorganised. Good-bye, child. Try to make yourself heard, though that isn’t so very important, really. And don’t forget about looking up.’

Aunt Lydia went out, closing the door behind her. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. Explanations would have to come after the ceremony.

Alison stood where she was, facing her own reflection in the glass. But she scarcely took in what she saw there. She was listening to the sounds of departure downstairs.

And then a servant knocked on the door.

Mr. Leadburn wanted to know if Miss Alison was ready. It was time they were going.

Alison picked up her great sheaf of deep pink roses, and glanced round her unpretentious little bedroom.

Next time she saw it she would be Alison Tyndrum- Julian’s wife.

Uncle Theodore was waiting in the hall, and he smiled as she came slowly down the stairs.

‘Dear me,’ he observed approvingly, ‘Julian certainly has a very pretty bride.’

‘Thank you, Uncle.’ Alison smiled in return and took his arm affectionately. She was glad it was her uncle with whom she had to go, for his kindly but matter-of-fact air steadied her.

She glanced shyly and a little incredulously at the group of sight-seers as she went out to the car. It was first and last time in her life that she was likely to attract a crowd, she thought with faint amusement.

And then she was driving through the streets beside Uncle Theodore, with the strange, dreamlike knowledge that, somewhere at the end of this journey, Julian was waiting to make her his wife.

‘Feeling nervous?’ Her uncle patted her hand.

‘No, not very,’ Alison said, and it was true. She was not trembling any more, and her heart was beating calmly and regularly again. Only her breathing was shallow and rapid. But that was really more excitement than nervousness.

‘Well, I expect you will have a pretty full programme from now on until you leave.’

That reminded her.

‘Oh, Uncle Theodore, we aren’t going to Buenos Aires after all. There was a cable for Julian last night, postponing our flight indefinitely.’

‘Really?’ Alison wondered if she imagined that her usually immovable uncle looked disturbed. ‘Do you mean you’ll be living here in London?’

‘I suppose so.’

He was silent for a moment, and then said, ‘Well, personally, I’m glad you’re not going to the other side of the world. How do you feel about it yourselves?’

‘I’m afraid Julian is very disappointed,’ she said carefully.

‘And you?’

‘Oh, I-she drew a quick breath-’I don’t really care where I am, so long as Julian is there too.’

‘Ah!’ Her uncle gave a satisfied laugh.

She thought he was going to say something too, but just then the car drew up outside the church, and there was no opportunity.

Organ music was coming from just beyond that doorway, and the indescribable rustle of people moving and whispering.

She took her uncle’s arm and moved slowly forward. Nobody seemed specially distinct-just a vague blur of faces on either side-people who had meant nothing at all in her life, and would mean nothing again. They were just there for her wedding-she didn’t quite know why, except that Aunt Lydia had somehow conjured them there.

Why, there was Jennifer, smiling slightly and looking a miracle of style and smartness. Simon would be with Julian, but she wouldn’t look there yet.

There was Aunt Lydia, right in front, turning her head as far as decorum permitted, to see that her stage-managing had not failed in any particular, while Theo gazed openly- but mostly at Audrey.

And then they all faded away into absolute nothingness, because Rosalie’s blue eyes were staring at her across the width of the aisle-cold, unfriendly, frighteningly bleak in her lovely young face.

Alison gasped faintly, as though someone had struck her, and her eyes dropped before the dislike in Rosalie’s.

Uncle Theodore had stopped. She couldn’t imagine why for a moment, and then, glancing up, she saw. Julian was standing the other side of her, smiling reassuringly down at her.

‘Oh, Julian,’ she said very quietly, and she forgot all about Rosalie.

She used to wonder afterwards whether every girl was just as vague about her own wedding.

It didn’t seem like her own voice saying, ‘I, Alison, take thee, Julian-’

She wondered if he felt equally strange, saying, ‘I, Julian, take thee, Alison-’

Perhaps he felt even stranger because, of course, he didn’t want to take her at all.

But she wouldn’t think of that now. Nor of Rosalie, standing somewhere there behind her, wishing her ill.

It was over at last, and she was with him in the vestry, signing ‘Alison Earlston’ for the last time. And then she was going along the aisle once more, past those rows of indistinguishable people.

But this time it was on Julian’s arm that her hand rested.

Rosalie had not come into the vestry, and Alison didn’t look in her direction now. She didn’t want anything to spoil this wonderful moment. She had forgotten her aunt’s warning, but in any case, she had no need of it to make her raise her head.

The most extraordinary pride and happiness flooded warmly over her. She was Julian’s wife. And for one little, little moment, that was enough.

In the car, Julian turned to her with a laugh.

‘Well, I’m glad that’s over.’

Alison smiled.

‘Were you nervous too?’

‘Petrified,’ Julian assured her, looking exceptionally calm. And at that they laughed together.

‘You look marvellously pretty, Alison.’

His admiration was undoubted, but there was not a single touch of sentiment about it. Nor did he sound in the least possessive. He might have been paying a compliment to any young friend or relation.

She wondered if he had noticed how lovely Rosalie looked, and, if so, how it had affected him. He couldn’t have seen her since that terrible evening when she had thrown him over-until he saw her in church to-day. It must have hurt, however much he had braced himself to meet the moment.

‘Do you like your ring?’ He took her hand and looked at the slender ring with its curiously cut facets.

‘Yes, very much, thank you, Julian.’ It was like thanking him for a casual Christmas present, she thought.

‘I’m glad you chose gold,’ he told her. ‘It’s so much warmer than platinum.’

‘Well. I know it’s old-fashioned of me, but I’ve always vaguely felt that I shouldn’t feel really married with anything but a gold ring,’ she confessed.

He looked at her hand for a moment in silence.

‘So that makes you feel really married, does it?’ he said with a slight smile. But she noticed that the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

She wished she hadn’t said anything so silly and thoughtless then, but it was too late to do anything about it, for they had arrived back at the house.

The next half-hour was crowded with hand-shaking and introductions, with little speeches of welcome and little speeches of thanks. She noticed once or twice how easily and gracefully Simon was carrying off his duties as best man, and she thought, ‘No wonder he is a social success.’

Even Aunt Lydia smiled at him with genuine cordiality, and if Uncle Theodore did think him ‘a bit of an adventurer,’ as he had declared, Simon seemed to please him and charm him just then.

Presently he came up to where she and Julian were standing.

‘You seem to be entering into your role very heartily,’ Julian remarked.

Simon bowed to Alison with a rather wicked smile.

‘I want to feel I am a really deserving case when I claim my privilege as best man.’