Paths of Glory

“HAVE YOU MET this paragon of virtue?” asked Odell as he folded his copy of the Manchester Guardian and placed it on the seat beside him.

“No,” said Finch, “but I should have guessed something was up when Mallory left us early and disappeared off to Venice.”

“I think it’s what female novelists describe as a whirlwind romance,” said Young. “They’ve only known each other a few months.”

“That would have been quite long enough for me,” chipped in Guy Bullock, who had returned to England. “I can tell you chaps, she’s ravishing, and anyone who might have been envious of George in the past will turn into a green-eyed monster the moment they set eyes on her.”

“I can’t wait to meet the girl George fell for,” said Somervell with a grin.

“It’s time to call this meeting to order,” said Young when the guard shouted, “Next stop, Godalming!”

“To start with,” continued Young, “I hope you all remembered to bring your ice axes…”

“Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

George never took his eyes off Ruth while his father was addressing him. “I will,” he responded firmly.

The Reverend Mallory turned his attention to the bride, and smiled. “Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will,” said Ruth, although few beyond the front pew would have heard her response.

“Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?” asked the Reverend Mallory.

Mr. Thackeray Turner stepped forward and said, “I do.”

Geoffrey Young, who was George’s best man, handed the Reverend Mallory a simple gold ring. George slipped it onto the fourth finger of Ruth’s left hand and said, “With this Ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Mr. Turner smiled to himself.

The Reverend Mallory once more joined the couple’s right hands, and addressed the congregation joyfully. “I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

As the first strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March sounded, George kissed his wife for the first time.

Mr. and Mrs. Mallory walked slowly down the aisle together, and George was delighted to see how many of his friends had taken the trouble to make the journey to Godalming. He spotted Rupert Brooke and Lytton Strachey, both Maynard and Geoffrey Keynes, as well as Ka Cox, who was sitting next to Cottie San

ders, who gave him a sad smile. But the real surprise came when they walked out of the church and into the warm sunshine, because waiting to greet them was a guard of honor made up of Young, Bullock, Herford, Somervell, Odell, and of course George Finch, their shining ice axes held aloft to form an archway under which the bride and groom walked, confetti appearing like falling snow.

After a reception at which George and Ruth managed to speak to every one of their guests, the newlyweds left in Mr. Turner’s brand-new bull-nose Morris, for a ten-day walking holiday in the Quantocks.

“So what did you make of the chaperones who will accompany me when I leave you to pay homage to the other woman in my life?” George asked as he drove down an empty, winding road.

“I can see why you’re so willing to follow Geoffrey Young,” Ruth replied, studying the map resting in her lap. “Especially after his thoughtful speech on behalf of the bridesmaids. Odell and Somervell looked as if, like Horatius, they’d stand by your side on the bridge, while I suspect Herford will match you step for step if he’s chosen for the final climb.”

“And Finch?” said George, glancing at his bride.

Ruth hesitated. The tone of her voice changed. “He’ll do anything, George, and I mean anything, to reach the top of that mountain ahead of you.”

“What makes you feel so sure of that, my darling?” asked George, sounding surprised.

“When I came out of the church on your arm, he looked at me as if I was still a single woman.”

“As many of the bachelors in the congregation might have done,” suggested George. “Including Andrew O’Sullivan.”

“No. Andrew looked at me as if he wished I was still a single woman. There’s a world of difference.”

“You may be right about Finch,” admitted George, “but there’s no climber I’d rather have by my side when it comes to tackling the last thousand feet of any mountain.”

“Including Everest?”