Chapter 30

Hope and Uncle Eb and I went away in a coach with Mrs Fuller.
There was a great crowd in the church that covered, with sweeping
arches, an interior more vast than any I had ever entered. Hope was
gowned in white silk, a crescent of diamonds in her hair - a
birthday gift from Mrs Fuller; her neck and a part of her full breast
unadorned by anything save the gifts of God - their snowy
whiteness, their lovely curves.

First Henry Cooper came on with his violin - a great master as I
now remember him. Then Hope ascended to the platform, her
dainty kid slippers showing under her gown, and the odious
Livingstone escorting her. I was never so madly in love or so
insanely jealous. I must confess it for I am trying to tell the whole
truth of myself - I was a fool. And it is the greater folly that one
says ever 'I was,' and never 'I am' in that plea. I could even see it
myself then and there, but I was so great a fool I smiled and spoke
fairly to the young man although I could have wrung his neck with
rage. There was a little stir and a passing whisper in the crowd as
she stood waiting for the prelude. Then she sang the ballad of Auld
Robin Grey - not better than I had heard her sing it before, but so
charmingly there were murmurs of delight going far and wide in
the audience when she had finished. Then she sang the fine
melody of 'Angels ever Bright and Fair', and again the old
ballad she and I had heard first from the violin of poor Nick
Goodall.

By yon bonnie bank an' by yon bonnie bonnie brae
The sun shines bright on Loch Lomond
Where me an' me true love were ever won't if gae
On the bonnie, bonnie bank o' Loch Lomond.

Great baskets of roses were handed to her as she came down from
the platform and my confusion was multiplied by their number for
I had not thought to bring any myself.

I turned to Uncle Eb who, now and then, had furtively wiped his
eyes. 'My stars!' he whispered, 'ain't it reemarkable grand! Never
heard ner seen nothin' like thet in all my born days. An' t' think
it's my little Hope.'

He could go no further. His handkerchief was in his hand while he
took refuge in silence.

Going home the flowers were heaped upon our laps and I, with
Hope beside me, felt some restoration of comfort.

'Did you see Trumbull?' Mrs Fuller asked. 'He sat back of us and
did seem to enjoy it so much - your singing. He was almost
cheerful.

'Tell me about Mr Trumbull,' I said. 'He is interesting.

'Speculator,' said Mrs Fuller. 'A strange man, successful, silent,
unmarried and, I think, in love. Has beautiful rooms they say on
Gramercy Park. Lives alone with an old servant. We got to know
him through the accident. Mr Fuller and he have done business