The ring is in Archer's waistcoat pocket, and he checks it with the same gesture he has watched so many bridegrooms make. Standing on the chancel step of Grace Church, he sees the same faces in the same pews as on a first night at the Opera: Mrs Selfridge Merry's ostrich feathers, Beaufort staring at the women, Lefferts guarding the deity of Good Form. The quarrels of recent weeks, such as whether the presents should be shown, now look to him like a nursery parody of life. Somewhere, he thinks, real people are living, and real things are happening to them.
Then Medora Manson glides in on Mr Mingott's arm, all stripes and floating scarves, and his heart stops. She and Ellen left for Washington four weeks ago, and no one expected either of them back. He strains to see who comes behind her. Nobody does. By the time he rouses himself, May is halfway up the nave, and the music, the lilies and his mother's happy sobs reach him as sounds that no longer fit together. In the brougham May flings her arms round his neck and asks whether anything can ever happen to them now.
On the train she is the simple girl of yesterday, talking over the wedding like a bridesmaid with an usher. Archer sees that she will meet each experience as it comes, and never look ahead by so much as a stolen glance. When she mentions the old lace Ellen sent, those two syllables nearly bring down his careful world like a house of cards, and he rattles on about tea. At Rhinebeck a servant explains that a water-tank has leaked, so Mr van der Luyden has opened the Patroon's house for them instead. May is delighted. Ellen told her it is the only house in America where she could imagine being perfectly happy. Archer answers gaily that this is what they are going to be. May smiles back that it is "the wonderful luck we're always going to have together!"
Coming Up in Chapter 20
In rainy autumn London, Archer tells May across the lodging-house breakfast-table that they must dine with Mrs Carfry, the English lady his mother rescued with a bottle of liniment at Botzen. May wrinkles her brows over the tea and muffins: she has never dined out in London, and she cannot decide which of her Paris dresses to wear.