"Yes," remarked his lordship, "that's been his principal occupation since I've known him."
"Boys will be boys, my dear fellow; he'll sober down now, of course he will. I know I did when I married," said the Justice.
"I'll tell you what it is, Justice. Warrender's daughter is a very plucky girl; if she had known half you and I know, Justice, she would have thought twice about it."
"The reformed rake, cousin, makes proverbially the best husband. Why, 'pon my word," continued the Justice, "when I was a young fellow I was a regular devil."
Lord Hetton blew out a big volume of smoke, and looked at his companion with some curiosity.
When an old gentleman, in the fulness of his heart, tells you that he's been a regular devil, you are bound to believe him, particularly if he's a Justice of the Peace.
"We were all devils in those days, my dear fellow, but a man outgrows it; he marries, and he lives it down; he takes to a hobby. I did. I can't tell how I drifted into pigs; much in the same way as you drifted into horses, I suppose. You may take my word for it that pigs are far more interesting and far more respectable, though they're expensive, mind you. Yes, they're uncommonly expensive; so are horses for the matter of that," continued the Justice. "Every man has his ideal, you see, Hetton. The perfect pig must ultimately be produced. You mustn't look upon me, you know, as a mere breeder of pigs. I am a benefactor of my species." Here the pair reached the "Dun Cow" and retired to their respective quarters.
So ended Georgie Warrender's wedding-day. As Lord Hetton had remarked, in engaging herself to Haggard she had done a very plucky thing. Marriage is like Mayonnaise sauce, either a great success or an absolute and entire failure. The materials which are blended together to form a perfect whole are dissimilar and have nothing whatever in common, but once really thoroughly amalgamated the result is very happy. Perhaps the marriage celebrated in King's Warren church may turn out well after all. It is to be feared that like the sauce of sauces in the hands of the inexperienced cook, the result is more than doubtful. Fortunatus, though a good fellow enough, is, like his patroness, notoriously fickle. All we have got to do, however, is to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in our stalls. The overture is over, the curtain is about to rise on the drama of Georgie's married life. We haven't a play bill, and don't know whether we are to listen to some pretty pastoral, to a long three-act farce, dignified by the title of a comedy, or whether we are to be thrilled with horror by a gruesome drama of intrigue, limelight effect, and blood. We haven't even seen a review of the piece; the footlights go up with a jump, and now the curtain rises. Let us watch the players.
