heart on the memory of that reply. And Reba during many of those same months, perplexed and bewildered, strove desperately to call back the wonderful moment in the limousine when, as one inspired, she was consumed with the conviction of the ultimate rightness of her marriage.
They rode in rapt silence for the rest of the little journey to the South Station, where the tactful clergyman, conscious of the sailor's hesitation when asked where the chauffeur should take him and his wife (the poor fellow had gone purple at the use of so staggering a term) immediately suggested the railroad station.
"But tell him differently if you want to, after you start," Mr. Barton had added as he stood, bare-headed on the sidewalk beside the car. "Wedding-trips are supposed to be kept a dark secret."
But they hadn't told the chauffeur differently. They had made no plans in way of a celebration. Reba's train left for Ridgefield a little after four, and she had told Nathan previously that she would have to return to her room immediately after the marriage ceremony was performed.
However, the face of a clock, which Nathan caught a glimpse of in passing, set him to wondering, uncomfortably, if he ought not to take her into a restaurant somewhere, and in view of their new relations at least eat a meal together. It was after half-past twelve. But he distrusted himself too much to run the risk of shocking her with bad table-manners! There was his crippled hand to consider too! He had refused to touch the little cakes, which the clergyman's mother had offered them, for fear of committing some sort
