"Good-bye," she murmured, clinging for an instant to his hand.
The next moment he was gone; and she stood alone for a while by her desk, his ring resting against her lips, her eyes closed.
Sunday she spent with him. They went together to St. John's Cathedral in the morning--the first time he had been inside a church in years. And he was in considerable awe of the place and of her until they finally emerged into the sunshine of Morningside Park.
Under a magnificent and cloudless sky, they walked together, silent or loquacious by turns, bold and shy, confident and timid. And she was a little surprised to find that, in the imminence of marriage, her trepidation was composure itself compared to the anxiety which seemed to assail him. All he had thought of was the license and the clergyman; and they had attended to those matters together. But she had wished him to have Jack Cairns present, and had told him that she desired to ask some friend of her girlhood to be her bridesmaid.
"Have you done so?" he inquired, as they descended the heights of Morningside, the beautiful weather tempting them to a long homeward stroll through Central Park.
"Yes, Jim, I must tell you about her. She, like myself, is not a girl that men of your sort might expect to meet----"
"That is very sweet of you. Only I had better tell you about Cynthia Lessler----"
"Yes. Her home life was very unhappy. But I think she has much talent, too."
"I am glad you think so. Anyway, she is my oldest friend, and I have asked her to be my bridesmaid to-morrow."
He continued silent beside her so long that she said timidly:
"I was only thinking--how it might look in the papers--and there are other girls you already know whose names would mean a lot----"
"Yes, I know. But I don't want to pretend to be what I am not, even in the papers. I suppose I do need all the social corroboration I can have. I know what you mean, dear. But there were reasons. I thought it all over. Cynthia is an old friend, not very happy, not the fortunate and blessed girl that your love is making of me. But she is good and sweet and loyal to me, and I can't abandon old friends, especially one who is not very fortunate--and I--I thought perhaps it might help her a little--in various ways--to be my bridesmaid."