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. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. I want to know what you are doing; how you think this work of yours really does serve women. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. His skill has not been tried. It is as if my lips had been sealed about them.
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