Lilies-of-the-valley—huge ones with "bells twice the size of those that grow at home in Ridgefield under the syringa bush in the clothes-yard," she told him prettily.
He had no answer for that, no answer for anything just then. He had just noticed her feet in gray suede!
He did not speak of them—he did not speak of any of Reba's little fineries—but she knew by his furtive glances that they were not unobserved. Of the two, she was the more at ease. She prattled almost volubly, as she tripped along beside him across the gardens on their way to be married.
The ceremony was to be performed at the home of the young clergyman who was sailing on the "Ellen T. Robinson" the following Saturday. Nathan had explained all the details to Reba at their last meeting, and already had searched out the address where the clergyman lived so that there might be no delay. The hour suggested by the clergyman had been eleven in the morning. After a conversation or two with the sailor, the clergyman could not help but feel a warm protective interest in him, and he had told him that he would ask his own mother, with whom he lived, to act as witness.
It was just two minutes of eleven when Reba and Nathan stood timidly waiting for admittance outside the plate-glass, filet-lace-covered front door of the clergyman's residence in the Back Bay.
