The Best Man by Grace Livingston Hill Read Free Book Online

him, the perfect courage in the appeal of the child’s eyes had called forth his deepest sympathy, but the tears of this exquisite woman wrung his heart. He saw now that the appeal of the dog and the child had been the opening wedge for the look of a woman which tore self from him and flung it at her feet to walk upon; and when the prayer was ended he found that he was trembling.
    He looked vindictively at the innocent youth beside him, as the soft rustle of the audience and the little breath of relief from the bridal party betokened the next stage in the ceremony. What had this innocent-looking youth done to cause tears in those lovely eyes? Was she marrying him against her will? He was only a boy, any way. What right had he to suppose he could care for a delicate creature like that? He was making her cry already, and he seemed to be utterly unconscious of it. What could be the matter? Gordon felt a desire to kick him.
    Then it occurred to him that inadvertently he might have been the cause of her tears; he supposedly the best man, who had been late, and held up the wedding no knowing how long. Of course it wasn’t really his fault; but by proxy it was, for he now was masquerading as that unlucky best man, and she was very likely reproaching him for what she supposed was his stupidity. He had heard that women cried sometimes from vexation, disappointment or excitement.
    Yet in his heart of hearts he could not set those tears, that look, down to so trivial a cause. They had reached his very soul, and he felt there was something deeper there than mere vexation. There had been bitter reproach for a deep wrong done. The glance had told him that. All the manhood in him rose to defend her against whoever had hurt her. He longed to get one more look into her eyes to make quite sure; and then, if there was still appeal there, his soul must answer it.
    For the moment his commission, his ridiculous situation, the real peril to his life and trust, were forgotten.
    The man Jefferson had produced a ring and was nudging him. It appeared that the best man has some part to play with that ring. He dimly remembered somewhere hearing that the best man must hand the ring to the bridegroom at the proper moment, but it was absurd for them to go through the farce of from doing that when the bridegroom already held the golden circlet in his fingers! Why did he not step up like a man and put it upon the outstretched hand; that little white hand just in front of him there, so timidly held out with its glove fingers tucked back, like a dove crept out from its covert unwillingly?
    But that Jefferson-man still held out the ring stupidly to him, and evidently expected him to take it. Silly youth! There was nothing for it but to take it and hand it back, of course. He must do as he was told and hasten that awful ceremony to its interminable close. He took the ring and held it out, but the young man did not take it again. Instead he whispered, “Put it on her finger!”
    Gordon frowned. Could he be hearing aright? Why didn’t the fellow put the ring on his own bride? If he were being married, he would knock any man down that dared to put his wife’s wedding ring on for him. Could that be the silly custom now, to have the best man put the bride’s ring on? How unutterably out of place! But he must not make a scene, of course.
    The little timid hand, so slender and white, came a shade nearer as if to help, and the ring finger separated itself from the others.
    He looked at the smooth circlet. It seemed too tiny for any woman’s finger. Then, reverently, he slipped it on, with a strange, inexpressible longing to touch the little hand. While he was thinking himself all kinds of a fool, and was enjoying one of his intermittent visions of Julia Bentley’s expressive countenance interpolated on the present scene, a strange thing happened.
    There had been some low murmurs and motions which he had not noticed because he thought his part of this very