Many a time he cast furtive glances across the meeting-house at
Evelina, but she never looked his way again. If his timid boy-eyes
could have seen her cheek behind its veil of curls, he might have
discovered that the color came and went before his glances, although
it was strange how she could have been conscious of them; but he
never knew.

And he also never knew how, when he walked past the Squire's house of
a Sunday evening, dressed in his best, with his shoulders thrust
consciously back, and the windows in the westering sun looked full of
blank gold to his furtive eyes, Evelina was always peeping at him
from behind a shutter, and he never dared go in. His intuitions were
not like hers, and so nothing happened that might have, and he never
fairly knew what he knew. But that he never told, even to his wife
when he married; for his hot young blood grew weary and impatient
with this vain courtship, and he turned to one of his villagemates,
who met him fairly half way, and married her within a year.

On the Sunday when he and his bride first appeared in the
meeting-house Evelina went up the aisle behind her father in an array
of flowered brocade, stiff with threads of silver, so wonderful that
people all turned their heads to stare at her. She wore also a new
bonnet of rose-colored satin, and her curls were caught back a
little, and her face showed as clear and beautiful as an angel's.

The young bridegroom glanced at her once across the meeting-house,
then he looked at his bride in her gay wedding finery with a faithful
look.