Presently—­she could, not have told whether it was five minutes or five hours later—­she heard the click of a latch-key in the lock.  At the sound, the imperative need for self-control rushed over her.  Penelope, of all people, must never know—­never guess that she wasn’t happy in her engagement to Roger.  She didn’t intend to spoil Penny’s own happiness by the faintest cloud of worry on her account.

She snatched up the prayer-book she had let fall and switching off the lights, dropped down on the hearthrug just as Penelope came in, fresh and glowing, from her walk.

“All in the dark?” she queried as she entered.  “You look like a kitten curled up by the fire.”  She stooped and kissed Nan with unwonted tenderness.  Then she turned up the lights and drew the curtains across the window, shutting out the grey October twilight.

“Penny,” said Nan, fingering the prayer-book, “have you ever read the marriage service?”

Penelope’s face lightened with a sudden radiance.

“Yes, isn’t it beautiful?”

Nan stared at her.

“Beautiful?” She gave an odd little laugh.  “It sounds to me much more like a commination service.  Doesn’t it frighten you?”

“Not a bit.”  Penelope’s serenely happy eyes confirmed her quick denial.

“Well”—­Nan regarded her contemplatively—­“it rubs in all the dreadful things that may happen to you—­like ill-health, and poverty, and ’for worse’—­whatever that may mean—­and dins into your ears the fact that nothing but death can release you.”

“You’re looking at the wrong side of it, Nan.  It seems to me to show just exactly how much a husband and wife may be to each other, and how—­together—­they can face all the ills that flesh is heir to.”

“Reminds one of a visit to the dentist—­you can screw your courage up more easily if someone goes with you,” remarked Nan grimly.

“You’re simply determined to look on the ugly side of things,” protested Penelope.

“And yet, Penny dear, at one time you used to scold me for being too idealistic in my notions!”

But Penelope declined to shift from her present standpoint.

“And now you’re expecting so little that, when your turn comes, you’ll be beautifully disappointed,” she remarked as she left the room in order to finish some odds and ends of packing.

* * * * * *

In her capacity of sole bridesmaid Nan followed Penelope’s tall, white-clad figure up the aisle.  Each step they made was taking her friend further away from her—­nearer to the man whom the next half-hour would make her husband.  With a swift leap of the imagination, she visioned herself in Penelope’s place, leaning on Lord St. John’s arm—­and the man who waited for her at the chancel steps was Roger!  She swayed a moment, then by an immense effort forced herself back to the reality of things, following steadily once more in the wake of her uncle and Penelope.