And Nan Everard, impulsive, dazzled by the prospect of unbounded wealth, and feverishly eager to ease the family burden, had accepted him.
He was obliged to sail for South Africa within three weeks of his proposal, and preparations for the marriage had therefore to be hurried forward with all speed.

They were to leave for Plymouth immediately after the ceremony, and to sail on the following day.
So at breathless speed events had raced, and no one knew exactly what was the state of Nan's mind even up to the morning of her wedding-day.
Perhaps she scarcely knew herself, so madly had she been whirled along in the vortex to which she had committed herself.

But possibly during the ceremony some vague realisation of what she was doing came upon her, for she made her vows with a face as white as death, and in a voice that never once rose above a whisper.
But when she came at last down the church-yard path upon her husband's arm, she was laughing merrily enough.

Some enthusiast had flung a shower of rice over his uncovered head, to his obvious discomfiture.
He did not laugh with her.

His smooth, heavy-jawed face was absolutely unresponsive.