The Boy with Wings

by Berta Ruck

  CHAPTER VII

  HASTE TO THE WEDDING!

  The Tuesday morning that brought Gwenna's wedding-day as the morning ofthe official declaration of war.

  It was in all the papers over which the girls at the Hampstead Clubpored, before they went off to their various avocations, staring,half-realising only.

  "Can it be true?... War?... Nowadays?... Good gracious!... D'you supposeit means we shall really have to send an army of ours--an EnglishArmy--over to France?... What do you think, Miss Armitage?"

  Miss Armitage, the suffragette, then became voluble on the subject ofhow very different all would have been if women had had the casting votein the matter. Intelligent women. Women with some insight into the widerinterests of their sex.... Not mere---- Here, by way of illustration,this Feminist shot a vicious glance at Miss Long. Now, Leslie, dressedin a lilac river-frock and wearing her black picture hat, was goinground the breakfast-table, under the very eye of the disapproving LadyPrincipal with the gold curb brooch, on an errand of her own. She wascollecting from it the daintiest bits of dry toast, the nicest-lookingpats of butter, a white rose from the nosegay in the centre bowl, andall that was left of the marmalade.

  For to Leslie Long the question whether War was to be or not to beseemed now to have been settled an age ago. The burden of that anxietywas lifted. The other anxieties ahead could be put aside for thepresent. And she turned, with a tranquil face, to the immediate matterin hand. She was going to take a little tray up to Gwenna, whom she hadadvised to have her breakfast in bed and not to dress until she shouldmake herself all ready for her wedding at that church at the foot of thehill.

  "'Good-morning, Madam Bride!'" said Leslie, smiling, as she came, trayin hand, into the little room where Gwenna was still drowsily curled upagainst her pillow. "Here's a little bit of sugar for the bird." She satdown on the side of the bed, cutting the dry buttered toast into narrowstrips for her chum, taking the top off her egg for her.

  "But I won't '_help to salt, help to sorrow_' for you," she went ontalking, just a trifle more brightly than naturally. "Curious thingabout a wedding, Taff--I mean _one_ of the curious things about awedding, is the wide desire it gives you to quote every aged, half-payproverb and tag that you've ever heard. '_Marriage is a_----"

  "Not '_lottery_,' Leslie! Not that one!" begged the bride-to-be, sittingup and laughing with her mouth full of toast. "We had it four times fromUncle Hugh before we left him last night. '_Few prizes! Many blanks!_'"she quoted joyously. All Monday she had been tremulously nervous. Thereaction had come at the right moment.

  "'_Happy is the Bride that the sun shines on_,' then," amended Leslie."You'll be glad to hear it's shining like Billy-oh this morning."

  "_I_ saw it," said Gwenna, nodding her curls towards the open casement."And I shall be getting '_Married in white, sure to be right_,' too!"

  The white lingerie frock she was to put on was not new, but it was theprettiest that she had. It lay, folded, crisp as a butterfly's wing andfresh from the wash, on the top of her chest-of-drawers, with the whitePrincesse slip--that _was_ new, bought by her in a hurry the daybefore!--and the white silk stockings, and the little white suede shoes.

  "'_Something old_, _something new_, _something borrowed_, _somethingblue_,'" Leslie capped her quotation. "Where's the '_something blue_,'Taffy?"

  "Ribbons in my camisole; and I shall 'borrow' your real lacehandkerchief, may I?" said the bride-elect.

  "Rather! All that I have, even unto the half of the best-man'sattention!" said Leslie, smiling gaily into the cherub face opposite.

  But, even as she smiled, she felt that pang which is supposed to beknown only to the _man_ who sees his chosen pal prepare to be "marriedand done for."

  * * * * *

  For this morning, that turned an adoring sweetheart into a wife, wastaking something of her own, of the bridesmaid's youth away.

  Gwenna Williams married!

  That meant one more girl-chum who would never, never be quite the sameagain to a once-treasured companion. That bubbling fountain of innocentconfidences would now run low, as far as Leslie was concerned. No longerwould the elder, quickly-sympathising, rebellious-tongued girl be thefirst to hear what happened to her little, ingenuous friend.

  The girlish gossip would have a masculine censor to pass.

  Leslie could foretell the little scene when it first happened.

  She could hear Gwenna's eager, "Oh, Paul! Leslie would so laugh at----"whatever the little incident might be. "I must tell her that!"

  Leslie, the bachelor-girl, could imagine the tilt of the young husband'sblonde head, and his doubtful, "Don't see why it should be supposed tointerest _her_."

  She could imagine the little wife's agreeing, "Oh! Perhaps not."

  And again the young husband's, "Don't you think Miss Long gets a littlebit _much_ sometimes? Oh, she's all right, but--I mean, I shouldn't like_you_ to go on quite like that."

  It would be only after years of marriage that the once-close chum wouldturn for sympathy to Leslie Long. And then it would not be the same....

  The last of Leslie's forebodings seemed the most inevitable. She heardGwenna's soft Welsh voice, once so full of unexpectedness, now grownalmost unrecognisably sedate. She heard it utter that finally"settled-down"-sounding phrase:

  "_Say 'how d'you do' nicely to Auntie Leslie, now!_"

  Ah! _That_ seemed to bring a shadow of Autumn already into the summersunshine of that bridal room with its white, prepared attire, itsbonnie, bright-eyed occupant. It seemed to show what must some day come:Taffy middle-aged!

  Also what probably would come: Taffy matter-of-fact! Taffy with all thedreams out of her eyes! Taffy whose only preoccupations were, "Reallythat stair-carpet's getting to look awful; I wonder if I could manage toget a new one and put it on the upper flight?" or, "_I_ never sawanything like the way _my_ children wear through their boots: it wasonly the other day I got that quite expensive pair of Peter Pans forlittle Hughie. And now look at them. _Look!..._"

  Yes! This sort of change was wrought, by time and marriage anddomesticity, in girl after golden girl. Leslie had seen it. She wouldprobably see Taffy, the fanciful Celt, grown stodgy; Taffy, even Taffy,the compactly supple, with all her fruit-like contours, grown_stout_!...

  Horrible thought....

  Then Miss Long gave a protesting shrug of her slim shoulders. Thiswouldn't do. Come, come! Not on the wedding-morning itself should onegive way to thoughts of coming middle-age! The rose, that must, someday, be overblown, was only just a pouting bud as yet. There were daysand fragrant days of beauty still before her.

  So Leslie picked up her chum's rough towels, her loofah and herverbena-scented soap.

  "I'll turn on the bath for you, Taffy, shall I? Hot or cold?"

  "Cold, please," said the Welsh girl, springing out of bed and patteringover the oil-cloth to fetch her kimono. "Perhaps to-morrow I shall beable to have a real swim! Oh, won't that be gorgeous?" For the couplehad decided upon Brighton for the honeymoon. It was near enough toLondon in case young Dampier received a summons; yet near also tocountry-tramps and sea-bathing. "I haven't had a swim this year, exceptin the baths. And you can't count that. Oh, _fancy_ the sea again,Leslie!"

  Leslie could guess what was at the back of that little exultant skip ofthe younger girl's through the bathroom door. It was sheer innocentdelight over the prospect of being able to display to her lover at lastsomething that she did really well.

  For they had never been by the sea together, he and she.

  And she was a pretty swimmer.

  * * * * *

  "Now I'll be your maid for the last time, and fasten you up," saidLeslie, when she returned from the bathroom. "I suppose you know thereisn't a _single_ eye left at the neck of this dress? Always the way withthat laundry! It's nothing to _it_ that untidiness puts a man off worsethan anything else (this from me). Never mind, I'll hook it into thelace.... That's all right. '_A bonnie brid
e is soon buskit._' Almost apity the girls will all have gone--though I know you'd hate to have themstaring. D'you know, you _are_ a little pocket-Venus? No, I'm _not_piling it on. You're lovely, Taffy. I hope the Dampier boy tells you so,very often and much. He's vastly lucky."

  "It's me that's lucky," said the girl in all-white devoutly. "Nowwhere's my hat?"

  "Do you think you're going to be allowed to get married in a _hat_?"

  "My best white one with the wings, I meant."

  "Pooh! I've arranged for you to have these," said Leslie, and broughtout a cardboard box that she had been to fetch while Gwenna was havingher bath. From it she drew a slender chaplet of dark leaves, with roundwhite buds with waxen flowers.

  "Orange-blossoms! _Real_ orange-blossoms," cried Gwenna, delightedlysniffing up the sensuous perfume of them. "Oh, but _where_ did you getthem?"

  "Covent Garden. I went down there this morning at five, with one of thehousemaids whose young man is at a florist's," explained Leslie,standing above her to set the pretty wreath upon the pretty head. "Nowyou look like a print of 'Cupid's Coronation,' or something like that.'_Through his curls as the crown on them slips_'--I'll twist this a tinybit tighter. And here's the veil."

  Gwenna stared. "A veil, too, Leslie?"

  "Rather. Only chance you get of appearing in this thoroughly becomingkit that carries us all back to the worst days of Woman's Enslavement.May as well take that chance!" remarked Miss Long cheerfully, as sheshook out soft, transparent folds of finest white net that she herselfhad embroidered, working late into the night, with a border of leaves inwhite silk. "This is from me."

  "Oh, _Les_-lie! You got it as a surprise for me," said the little bride,much touched. "You worked all these beautiful little laurel-leaves----"

  "Not laurel, child. Meant for myrtle. Pity your geography is so weak,"rattled on Leslie, as she heard, outside the Club, the stopping of thetaxi which had brought the Reverend Hugh Lloyd to call for hisdetachment of the bridal party. "Refreshingly unconventional sort ofwedding you're having in some ways, aren't you? '_The presents were fewand inexpensive_' (such a change from the usual report). '_The bride wasattended by one bridesmaid: her friend Miss Long, clad in mauve linen,mystic, wonderful_'--(taking into consideration that it had done hercousin for Henley last year). '_The ceremony proceeded without a hitch,except for the usual attempt on the part of the officiating clergyman tomarry the bride to the best man._' Which must not be, Taffy. You mustremember that I've got designs on Mr. Hugo Swayne myself----"

  "Don't, Leslie!" protested the bride. "You know I do so hate to think ofyou getting engaged in that sort of horrible way--instead of justbecause you can't _help_ it! If only there were somebody you could bereally in love with----"

  "I shall be really rather in love with Uncle Hugh, I know," prophesiedthe bridesmaid. "_What_ a pity he isn't thirty years younger! Comealong. He's waiting. I'm going to kiss _him_, anyhow. Got your gloves?Right. Got my hankerfish? You won't _want_ to shed any tears into it,but----"

  But there was an added brightness in the green-brown eyes of the littlebride as she glanced round the girlish room where Leslie would pack upand put everything to rights for her after she had gone.

  Impulsively she put her arms round that good chum.

  "You've been so--so frightfully sweet to me, Leslie, always. Thanks soawfully----"

  "_Don't_ kiss me through a veil, my child!" protested Leslie, drawingback. "D'you want to bring me ill luck?"

  "Oh, Leslie! I should want to bring you all the good luck in the world,"cried the younger girl, earnestly, over her shoulder as they went out."If I were given three wishes _now_ for a wedding-present, one of themwould be that you would some day be as happy as me!"

  "My dear lamb!" said Leslie lightly, running downstairs after her, "Howdo you know I'm not quite as happy in another--in my own way?"

  Gwenna shook the curly head under the orange-blossom wreath and themisty veil. It seemed to her that there was only The One Way in which awoman could be happy.

  "And the other two wishes?" suggested Leslie, at the sitting-room door."What are they?"

  "Mustn't tell," smiled the little bride of Superstition with her fingerat her lips. "If I told they _might_ not come true!"

  * * * * *

  Very earnestly she hoped that those two wishes might come true. Shethought of them again, presently, as she stood, there in church, asmall, white-mist-clad figure, backed by the coloured window and thecrimson altar. She had the kindly glances upon her of her uncle, of hertall girl-chum, and of Hugo Swayne--who wore a perfect morning coat witha white flower and grey trousers, admirably pressed by his man Johnson.Hugo, but for his Chopin stock, would have looked the very model of aprosperous and conventional bridegroom. He did, in fact, look far morelike the popular conception of a bridegroom than did young Paul Dampierin his well-cut but ancient grey tweed suit.

  --"The only togs I've got in the wide world," he'd confided to Gwenna,"except working clothes and evening things!"

  She stood with her hand in his large, boyish one, repeating in her soft,un-English accent the vows that once seemed to her such a vast andsolemn and relentless undertaking.

  "_To love, honour, and obey ... as long as we both shall live...._"

  It seemed now so little to have to promise! It seemed only a fraction ofall that her heart gave gladly to the lord of it!

  "_Till Death us do part_," she repeated quietly.

  And it was then she thought of the two wishes. One was that Paul shouldbe always as much in love with her as he was at that moment.

  She was too young fully to realise the greater wisdom of her own secondwish.

  _It was that she herself should always remain as much in love withPaul._

  If only God would be very, very kind to them, she thought, and allowjust this to be!

  * * * * *

  "And you sign your name here," said the clergyman in the vestry to thenewly-made husband, who put down in his small neat handwriting, "PaulDampier, Lieutenant Royal Flying Corps," on the grey-blue sheet, which,duly witnessed and blotted, he was going to tuck away into thebreast-pocket of his tweed jacket.

  "No. Those marriage lines are not yours," the parson stopped him with asmile. "Those are the property of your wife."

  Gwenna, dazed, realised that this referred to herself. She took thefolded marriage-certificate and slipped it into the white satin ribbongirding her pretty frock. She looked very childish for "a wife"! But forthat bright wedding-ring on her finger (half a size too large for it)she might have passed for one of the veiled and white-clad FirstCommunicants of an Easter Sunday in Paris. Then she turned up the littleface, from which the veil had been thrown back, to be kissed by theothers who had followed them into the vestry. Vaguely she heardLeslie's voice, arranging in murmurs with Hugo Swayne. "No. Perhaps I'llcome on afterwards.... After I've helped her to change.... No; you takeMr. Lloyd and feed him somewhere. No! I'm sure those two won't want tocome on to any lunch. Lunch? My dear man!... Send them in your car toVictoria and Johnson can bring it back.... They'll be getting away atonce."

  At once! Gwenna looked up into her young husband's blue eyes.

  He caught her hand.

  "Got you now," he said softly. "Can't run away this time."

  By rights she should have walked down the church on his arm. But he didnot loose her hand. So it was hand-in-hand, like children, that theyhurried out again, ahead of the others, into the sunshine of the porch.The merry breeze took the bride's veil and spread it, a curtain of mist,across the pair of them. Gwenna Dampier caught it aside, laughinggleefully as they stepped out of the porch. The gravity of the servicehad sparkled into gaiety in their eyes. He crushed her fingers in his.Her heart sang. They would be off----! It was almost too lovely to betrue, but----

  Yes. It _was_ too lovely to be true.

  A shadow fell across the path; across the bride's white shoe.

  Johnson, Hugo's man, who had been waiting
with the car, stepped quicklyup to the bridegroom.

  "Excuse me, sir, but this message.... Came just as you'd gone intochurch. I waited. The woman brought it on from your rooms, sir."

  Paul Dampier took the wire and read it.

  The white-frocked girl he had just married stood at the church entrancewatching him, while the breeze lifted her veil and stirred her curls andtossed a couple of creamy petals, from her wreath, on to the breast ofhis coat. She herself stood motionless, stony.

  She knew that this was no wire of congratulation such as any bridalcouple may expect to receive as they come out of church from theirwedding. She knew, even before she heard his deep voice saying--blanklyand hurriedly:

  "I say. It's from the War Office. I shall have to go. I've got to leaveyou. Now. I'm ordered to join at once!"