“What must we call her?” asked Blanche. “We know not her name.”
“And we cannot say ‘Mistress Jack,’ sith she hath a title,” added Sir Thomas.
“‘My Lady Jack,’” laughingly suggested Rachel.
And “Lady Jack” the bride was dubbed from that day forth.
The sixth letter was longer in coming. But when it came it was short and sweet. Jack’s nuptials were to be solemnised on the following day, and he and his bride would start three days later for Enville Court. There was a general flutter through the family.
“Dear heart! how was Jack donned? I would give a broad shilling to know!” said Rachel satirically. “In white satin, trow, at the very least, with a mighty great F on his back, wrought in rubies.”
“F, Aunt Rachel!” repeated Blanche innocently. “You mean E, surely. What should F spell?”
“Thou canst spell aught thou wilt therewith, child,” said Rachel coolly, as she left the room.
“Sir Thomas, I pray you of money,” said Lady Enville, rousing up. “We have nought fit to show.”
Sir Thomas glanced at his wife’s flowing satin dress, trimmed with costly lace, and, like an unreasonable man, opined that it was quite good enough for anything; “This!” exclaimed Lady Enville. “Surely you cannot mean it, Sir Thomas. This gown is all rags, and hath been made these four years.”