Sir John stood upon the threshold. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. I suppose the phrase—the word—originally meant a man who searched for food on the beach. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort.
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