“You have seen your mother-in-law, have you not?”
“I spent a day with her in London—she is rather a formidable old lady with a long, white face, a straight back, and beautiful hands. I cannot imagine her being Hugo’s mother—she is so unlike him, but I feel sure that she means to be kind: she gave me a most beautiful lace veil, and a set of opals and diamonds, and by and by, when we return from the honeymoon, she is coming down to stay with us. Hugo says that I’m bound to like her in time—and that her bark is worse than her bite.”
On her way from Oldcourt, Letty called to see her friend, the Rector’s wife. Mrs. Denton had received that morning a letter from her nephew Lancelot—who was still stationed at Aldershot—which said:
“What is this that I hear about Miss Glyn and Blagdon? Is it true that they are engaged? Oh, my dear aunt, I believe that Miss Glyn is fond of you, and if you could possibly give her a word of warning, it would save her from the most frightful leap in the dark a girl has ever taken. Blagdon will tire of her within six months, and bully her for the rest of his days. People at home don’t know the sort of fellow he is elsewhere, and it is shameful for the Fenchurchs to allow him to marry their niece. I know Mrs. Fen; she will enjoy the glory of a great match, and that poor little girl will be led like a lamb to the slaughter. Can’t you do something? You will think I’m gone off my chump, and am writing like a raving idiot, but I feel crazy, and it is no secret to you, dear, clear-sighted auntie, that I’m awfully fond of Letty myself. It’s bad enough that she should marry at all—a regular facer for me—but that she should marry this ruffian, is too awful!”
When the bride-elect, all smiles and blushes, ran in to tell Mrs. Denton about the kind letters, and the lovely presents, she had received, and how her train was to be of white satin, and she was to have two pages, the poor lady had this explosive missive under her pillow. Yet she dare not allude to it; her courage failed her, she could not utter the necessary word. Already she had thrown cold water on one love affair, and how was she to defy Mrs. Fenchurch, and dash her splendid project to the ground? She only said:
“Dear Letty, you are so young to marry! I do wish you could have waited a year, and seen a little more of the world.” There were tears in her eyes, as she added: “The great thing that is necessary, at any rate during the first year of married life, is forbearance. Everyone is on their best behaviour during their engagement, and afterwards—so many little things come out—things that surprise one. I wonder if you realise the solemn vow, ‘Till death us do part,’ marriage is such a serious step.”
“But it cannot be anything so very dreadful,” objected Letty. “I know so many married people, and they don’t look a bit different to the rest of the world.”
“Well, dear child, I pray that you may be truly happy in your new home, and remember, you will always have a loving friend in me.”
What did these two ladies, Mrs. Denton and Mrs. Hesketh, mean by impressing upon her the fact, that they were her friends? Why did Mrs. Denton cry? What could happen? Once or twice a certain trembling shook the bride-elect; a nervousness, in the face of the unknown; but this was a mere passing tremor: and crafty and vigilant Mrs. Fenchurch contrived, that Letty was left little time for solitude or reflection.
Three weeks later the wedding took place. It was a beautiful May day, the whole village was en fête, the bride looked lovely—this was the truth, no mere conventional statement; the bride’s aunt wore blue velvet, bird of paradise plumes, and an expression of radiant triumph. Everything went off with great éclat, and a carriage with four horses whirled away the happy pair, upon the first stage of their honeymoon.