But there was a question more vital than that of expense. How was the new furniture to be chosen? The first idea was that Florence should be invited to spend a week at her future home, and go up and down to London with either Mrs. Annesley or her brother, and select the furniture herself. But there were reasons against this. Mr. Prosper would like to surprise her by the munificence of what he did. And the suggestion of one day was sure to wane before the stronger lights of the next. Mr. Prosper, though he intended to be munificent, was still a little afraid that it should be thrown away as a thing of course, or that it should appear to have been Harry's work. That would be manifestly unjust. "I think I had better do it myself," he said to his sister.
"Perhaps I could help you, Peter." He shuddered; but it was at the memory of the sound of the word "Peter," as it had been blurted out for his express annoyance by Miss Thoroughbung. "I wouldn't mind going up to London with you." He shook his head, demanding still more time for deliberation. Were he to accept his sister's offer he would be bound by his acceptance. "It's the last drawing-room carpet I shall ever buy," he said to himself, with true melancholy, as he walked back home across the park.
Then there had been the other grand question of the journey, or not, down to Cheltenham. In a good-natured way Harry had told him that the wedding would be no wedding without his presence. That had moved him considerably. It was very desirable that the wedding should be more than a merely legal wedding. The world ought to be made aware that the heir to Buston had been married in the presence of the Squire of Buston. But the journey was a tremendous difficulty. If he could have gone from Buston direct to Cheltenham it would have been comparatively easy. But he must pass through London, and to do this must travel the whole way between the Northern and Western railway-stations. And the trains would not fit. He studied his Bradshaw for an entire morning and found that they would not fit. "Where am I to spend the hour and a quarter?" he asked his sister, mournfully. "And there would be four journeys, going and coming,—four separate journeys!" And these would be irrespective of numerous carriages and cabs. It was absolutely impossible that he should be present in the flesh on that happy day at Cheltenham. He was left at home for three months,—July, August, and September,—in which to buy the furniture; which, however, was at last procured by Mr. Annesley.
The marriage, as far as the wedding was concerned, was not nearly as good fun as that of Joe and Molly. There was no Mr. Crabtree there, and no Miss Thoroughbung. And Mrs. Mountjoy, though she meant to do it all as well as it could be done, was still joyous only with bated joy. Some tinge of melancholy still clung to her. She had for so many years thought of her nephew as the husband destined for her girl, that she could not be as yet demonstrative in her appreciation of Harry Annesley. "I have no doubt we shall come to be true friends, Mr. Annesley," she had said to him.
"Don't call me Mr. Annesley."
"No, I won't, when you come back again and I am used to you. But at present there—there is a something—"
"A regret, perhaps?"
"Well, not quite a regret. I am an old-fashioned person, and I can't change my manners all at once. You know what it was that I used to hope."
"Oh yes. But Florence was very stupid, and would have a different opinion."
"Of course I am happy now. Her happiness is all the world to me. And things have undergone a change."