“I feel, my darling, as if I could not have borne it if there had been more signs of our joyousness. It is too sacred; it is the day of my life,” she whispered to herself. “I hope there will be some sunshine at Hastings,” he said, as if he did not in the least understand what she was talking about. He had hardly listened to her. “I hope so, my darling,” she answered gently; “and in your life too. I will try to put it there, Alfred.” He turned and looked at her with an expression that seemed half shame and half shrinking. “It will be warmer at Hastings,” he said, as if at a loss for words. Aunt Anne had arranged a honeymoon trip. It was she who made all the arrangements, and he who reluctantly consented to them. They were to go to Hastings by a late afternoon train, stay there a few days, and then return to town; but everything was vague beyond. “It will be better to wait,” Mr. Wimple said, when she wanted to settle some sort of home. “I must consider my work, Anne. I cannot be tied down: you must understand that.” There was a little wedding-breakfast set out in the drawing-room. A cold chicken and a shape of jelly, and a very small wedding-cake with some white sugar over it, put almost shyly on one side. In the middle of the table was a pint bottle of champagne. The gold foil over the cork made the one bright spot in the room, and gave it an air of festivity. A cheerless meal enough on a winter’s day, but not for worlds would Aunt Anne have had an ordinary one on such an occasion. And so they sat down to their cold chicken and the cheap stiff jelly; and Alfred Wimple opened the champagne, and Aunt Anne, quick to see, noticed that he gave her three quarters of a glass and drank the rest himself, and she felt that she was married indeed. “Bless you, my dear one, bless you,” she said, as she always did, when she raised her glass to her lips. “And may our life be a happy one.” “Thank you,” he answered solemnly—and then, as if he remembered what was expected of him, he drank back to her. “Good health, Anne, and good luck to us,” he said. The meal ended, the things were taken away by Mrs. Hooper herself, and they were left alone. Mr. Wimple loitered uneasily round the room. “I think we must go to Hastings by a later train,” he said; “I shall have to get to my chambers presently.” “Must you go to your chambers again to-day?” she asked meekly. “Yes,” he answered. “I shan’t be long, but there are some things I must see to.” “Couldn’t I go with you, Alfred, in a cab?” “No;” and his lips locked. “Are the rooms in the Gray’s Inn Road?” she asked again. “They are near there,” he said once more; he looked at her steadfastly, and something in his eyes told her that he did not mean to give her the address. For a few moments there was silence between them. He stood on the hearth-rug by the fire. She sat a few paces from him, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly she looked up.