flowers, that they finally took on a rhythm---

_"For better or worse,
For richer or poorer,
For richer or poorer,
For better or worse--"_

* * * * *

On this day her life was beginning. She had given herself irrevocably into
the hands of this man. She would live only in him. Her life would find
expression only through his. His strong, trained mind would be her guide,
his sturdy courage her strength. He would build for them both, for the
twain that were one.

She caught up one red rose, winked the moisture from her eyes, and
gazed--rapt, lips parted, color high--out at the close-clipped lawn behind
the privet hedge. The afternoon would soon be waning--in another hour or
so. She must not disturb him now.

In an hour, say, she would run up the stairs and tap at his door. And he
would come out, clasp her in his big arms, and she would stand on the tips
of her toes and kiss away the wrinkles between his brows, and they would
walk on the lawn and talk about themselves and the miracle of their love.

The clock on the mantel struck three. She pouted; turned and stared at it.
"Well," she told herself, "I'll wait until half-past four."

The doorbell rang.