“Thank you, Cousin Palma. Never! Never! I should be too much in awe of such a grand dignitary,” said Ran, laughing, as he left the room.
“What a happy dog he is, my dear,” exclaimed Stuart to his wife as they also retired to dress for the wedding.
Meanwhile, at this same hour, in an upper room at Markiss’ Hotel on Water Street, another scene of preparation was going on.
Samson Longman, Andrew Quin, and Michael Man were dressing for the wedding.
The three men were fresh from the bath and the barber. Longman had his hair cut and his fine, flowing beard dressed, and, with his strong, regular features and his clear, blue eyes, looked a very handsome colossus, indeed. He wore a fashionable dress suit of black cloth, with a vest of black satin, a small white tie, a tea rose in his buttonhole, white kid gloves and patent leather boots.
He looked every inch a gentleman, as he really was.
Dandy had had his red hair and side whiskers trimmed and dressed. He also wore a dress suit of exactly the same style of Longman’s, even to the little details of the white tie, tea rose, kid gloves and patent leathers.
Mike, with his short, dark, curly hair neatly arranged, his fresh face, innocent of beard or mustache, and his slight figure in a dress suit proper to the occasion, looked like a boy got up for a birthday party, or a freshman ready for his first college exhibition.
“Come, Mike! Stop admiring yourself and hurry up. Dandy, come! It is nine o’clock, and time to start if we are to reach the church and get seated in time to see the wedding party come in,” said Longman.
“Eh, Lorrd! But me courage has sunk down into the bottom av me boots! What would ail me to be pushing meself amongst gentlefolk, anyway?” exclaimed the nervous old man.