Pet was pale, and leaned for support on Bog’s arm.  He stood firm, erect, unblenching, with that instinct of physical strength which one feels when the woman that he loves hangs confidingly on his arm.  Fayette Overtop, with his well-known dislike for conventionalism, was thinking how tedious all that formality was, and how much more sensible to be married by an alderman or justice of the peace, privately, in two minutes.  Miss Pillbody did not agree with her future husband on this point, and was thinking, at that very moment, what a solemn thing marriage was, and with what ceremonious deliberation it ought to be entered upon.  Matthew Maltboy had had great experience as a groomsman, and he speculated with perfect composure on this important question:  Whether the gentle tremor of Miss Trapper’s hand was caused altogether by the fluttering novelty of her situation, or partly by the love-enkindling contact of their interlocked elbows?

As the six took their chosen positions, and gazed at a particular pattern in the carpet, selected by them at a private rehearsal in the morning, they were the subject of mental comment by the forty guests.  The women, looking at the costly dress of the bride, pronounced her beautiful.  The men, never noticing her dress, but observing her pale face and heavy eyes, were not vividly impressed with her loveliness.  Bog was admired by all, and envied by none to whom his history was known.  The old ladies took a mild maternal interest in him, because he was an orphan; and the young ladies thought extremely well of him, because he was a strong, gallant, handsome fellow.  Overtop was regarded with curiosity, as the reputed hero of the Slapman scandal.  Matthew Maltboy was universally condemned as too fat, and, with that brief criticism, was dismissed.  Miss Pillbody was pronounced “a little proud,” because she stood straight, with shoulders thrown back, which was her usual attitude.  Miss Trapper was admitted to be a very modest and diffident creature, because she had a slight stoop in the back, which was chronic.

Old Van Quintem stood near the wedding party, and recalled, with fond minuteness, the hour when one, about the same age as Pet, and resembling her in the freshness of her youthful beauty, had crowned him with happiness.  Mrs. Crull was close by, and looked at the bride, whom she had dressed, with the pride of an artist.  Mrs. Frump stood next to her, and shared in the same sentiments.  Marcus Wilkeson’s appointed place was somewhere in the neighborhood of the bride; but he shrank away to the side of Uncle Ith, who also obstinately clung to the other end of the room.

The venerable clergyman stepped into the centre of the small open space which had been left in front of the bridal party, and uttered a cough, at which signal the buzz of conversation ceased.