CHAPTER XXXV.
DORIS'S WEDDING.
Breakfast is considerably later than usual the next morning, in consequence of the gaieties of the previous night. Mrs. Merivale has therefore made an effort to be present on this occasion in order to hear full accounts of the ball.
Lady Woodhouse has now somewhat recovered from her fatigue, but the girls all look pale and heavy-eyed, being altogether unaccustomed to such late hours. Molly sits in a hopeless state of yawning, hardly eating any breakfast, and leaving all the others to do the talking, only throwing in a word here and there. Doris has been scolding her mother for her part in what she calls the trick played upon her as to the real position of her fiancé, and Mrs. Merivale has more than once been obliged to appeal laughingly to her sister for support in what she holds out as her reasons against her daughter's arguments.
That young lady at length clinches the matter by emphatically declaring it to be all "fudge," whatever that may be, and that she is quite surprised at Lancelot having behaved so badly.
"Yes," presently remarks Lady Woodhouse, chipping the top off an egg, "I will say this for your girls, Mary,—a more lady-like, refined trio you could not see. If they were not here," she continues with an inconsistency worthy of the Emerald Isle itself, "I should go on to say what is perfectly true, that they were the admiration of the greater part of the guests, and the envy of the rest. Why, if their programmes had been as long as my arm, they could have filled them over and over. O, yes, I certainly feel well repaid for those long, weary hours of sitting there, pretending I liked it, when I would far rather have been in my bed. Well, as I said before, the girls do you credit, Mary. You and that excellent Miss Denison that was; you would have brought them up to be refined even had they had to go out charing. Good gracious! here's that cat of yours playing with my shoe-strings. Take him away, Molly, do! And now, Doris, what is this you are telling us about Sir Edward? If he wants you to marry him in three weeks' time instead of several months, why in the world shouldn't you do so?"
"It is so quick, aunt," objects Doris.
"Quick? What nonsense, child! And now, let me tell you this, Doris, and I am sure your mother will agree with me. Considering that you are going to your husband without so much as a sixpence of your own, I think it is your duty—do you hear?—your duty to consider his wishes. Goodness knows, the property has been neglected long enough; and if Sir Edward wishes to settle down on his estate as quickly as he can, I don't see why you should raise objections. Do leave off twirling that knife round, Dick. It fidgets me to death."
After a good deal of argument on the subject, it is settled that Doris (in her aunt's wording) shall behave herself like a sensible young woman, and inform Sir Edward, who is to call at twelve o'clock that morning, that she is ready to be borne off to the altar at any moment he shall think desirable; and Molly, suddenly looking up at the clock and remembering that she is due at the Hallams at half-past ten, darts away from the table to put on her hat.
And so it comes to pass that the wedding is fixed for that day three weeks.