Was it really possible--in spite of his mother's opposition to our marriage--that we were Man and Wife?
My aunt Starkweather settled the question by a second tap on my shoulder.
"Take his arm!" she whispered, in the tone of a woman who had lost all patience with me.
I took his arm.
"Follow your uncle." Holding fast by my husband's arm, I followed my uncle and the curate who had assisted him at the marriage.
The two clergymen led us into the vestry.

The church was in one of the dreary quarters of London, situated between the City and the West End; the day was dull; the atmosphere was heavy and damp.

We were a melancholy little wedding party, worthy of the dreary neighborhood and the dull day.

No relatives or friends of my husband's were present; his family, as I have already hinted, disapproved of his marriage.

Except my uncle and my aunt, no other relations appeared on my side.