“Love’ll come fast enough afterward!” Pilgrim had said, and Harriet thought Pilgrim was rather a wise woman, in her homely way.  The girl stirred the fire and settled herself to watch it again.

After what?  Well, certainly not after anything so short, simple, and unconvincing as that three minutes with the clergyman to-day.  The utter unreality of that had seemed to blend with the silent, snowy day, and with the dulled and dreamy condition of her own brain.  Snow was falling softly when she had met Richard Carter at the office, at half-past ten, and snow lisped against the windows of the limousine as they two, with Irving Fox, Richard’s kindly, middle-aged, confidential clerk, were whirled out of the city, and on and on through the bare little wintry towns.  They had all talked together, sometimes of herself and her sister, sometimes of Nina and Ward, of Fox’s amazing grandchildren, and of business.  Fox had had some papers to which they occasionally referred; the old clerk was the only person to congratulate Harriet warmly when the brief and bewildering business was over and she had her wedding ring.  It was alone with Fox that she made the return trip.  Richard came back by train, saving an hour, and was at the office when they got there.  Harriet did not see him again; he was in conference; and presently she quietly got back into the motor-car, and on her way to meet Nina she slipped the plain circle of gold into her hand bag.

She had it out to-night, and put it on her bare, pretty hand, and held it to the fire, and slowly the events of the bewildering and tiring day wheeled before her, and only the reality of the ring assured her that it was not all a confused dream.  Married!  And all alone before the glowing coals, weary from hostile encounters, on her marriage night!  Ward, to be sure, was always her champion, but Ward was drinking heavily just now, and her influence was none the stronger because he admired her while she held him at arm’s-length.  Nina was all ready to flame into defiance, and the old lady’s message had not been reassuring.

“But Bottomley and Pilgrim will stand by me!” Harriet said, with a shaky laugh.  She looked about the beautiful familiar room, the room that had been Isabelle’s for so many years, and wondered to think of Isabelle, lying dead so far away, and a usurper already holding her name and place.

She had intended to write to Linda to-night; Linda was vexed with her, and small wonder!  For Harriet had left the little New Jersey house almost without farewells, had come down to an earlier breakfast even than Fred’s, and had said briefly that she was returning to the Carters, and would see them all soon.

Why hadn’t she told Linda?  Well, for one reason, she had hardly believed her own memory of the talk on Christmas Day with Richard.  Then she had feared opposition, feared Linda’s shocked references to decent intervals of mourning; Linda’s frank unbelief that there was no strong personal feeling involved on Richard’s part; Linda’s advice to a bride.