The dentist and Old Grannis entered the sitting-room; the minister stood behind the little table in the bay window, holding a book, one finger marking the place; he was rigid, erect, impassive.  On either side of him, in a semi-circle, stood the invited guests.  A little pock-marked gentleman in glasses, no doubt the famous Uncle Oelbermann; Miss Baker, in her black grenadine, false curls, and coral brooch; Marcus Schouler, his arms folded, his brows bent, grand and gloomy; Heise the harness-maker, in yellow gloves, intently studying the pattern of the matting; and Owgooste, in his Fauntleroy “costume,” stupefied and a little frightened, rolling his eyes from face to face.  Selina sat at the parlor melodeon, fingering the keys, her glance wandering to the chenille portieres.  She stopped playing as McTeague and Old Grannis entered and took their places.  A profound silence ensued.  Uncle Oelbermann’s shirt front could be heard creaking as he breathed.  The most solemn expression pervaded every face.

All at once the portieres were shaken violently.  It was a signal.  Selina pulled open the stops and swung into the wedding march.

Trina entered.  She was dressed in white silk, a crown of orange blossoms was around her swarthy hair—­dressed high for the first time—­her veil reached to the floor.  Her face was pink, but otherwise she was calm.  She looked quietly around the room as she crossed it, until her glance rested on McTeague, smiling at him then very prettily and with perfect self-possession.

She was on her father’s arm.  The twins, dressed exactly alike, walked in front, each carrying an enormous bouquet of cut flowers in a “lace-paper” holder.  Mrs. Sieppe followed in the rear.  She was crying; her handkerchief was rolled into a wad.  From time to time she looked at the train of Trina’s dress through her tears.  Mr. Sieppe marched his daughter to the exact middle of the floor, wheeled at right angles, and brought her up to the minister.  He stepped back three paces, and stood planted upon one of his chalk marks, his face glistening with perspiration.

Then Trina and the dentist were married.  The guests stood in constrained attitudes, looking furtively out of the corners of their eyes.  Mr. Sieppe never moved a muscle; Mrs. Sieppe cried into her handkerchief all the time.  At the melodeon Selina played “Call Me Thine Own,” very softly, the tremulo stop pulled out.  She looked over her shoulder from time to time.  Between the pauses of the music one could hear the low tones of the minister, the responses of the participants, and the suppressed sounds of Mrs. Sieppe’s weeping.  Outside the noises of the street rose to the windows in muffled undertones, a cable car rumbled past, a newsboy went by chanting the evening papers; from somewhere in the building itself came a persistent noise of sawing.