Ishmael did not reply; he could not wake from the dazzling, horrible dream.
When they were seated in the carriage, Claudia and Beatrice occupied the back seat; the judge and Ishmael the front one; the judge sat opposite Bee, and Ishmael opposite Claudia.
The rich drifts of shining white satin and misty white lace that formed her bridal dress floated around him; her foot inadvertently touched his, and her warm, balmy breath passed him. Never had he been so close to Claudia before; that carriage was so confined and crowded—dread proximity! The dream deepened; it became a trance—that strange trance that sometimes falls upon the victim in the midst of his sufferings held Ishmael's faculties in abeyance and deadened his sense of pain.
And indeed the same spell, though with less force, acted upon all the party in that carriage. Its mood was expectant, excited, yet dream-like. There was scarcely any conversation. There seldom is under such circumstances. Once the judge inquired:
"Bee, my dear, how is it that you are not one of Claudia's bridesmaids?"
"I did not wish to be, and Claudia was so kind as to excuse me," Beatrice replied.
"But why not, my love? I thought young ladies always liked to fill such positions."
Bee blushed and lowered her head, but did not reply.
Claudia answered for her:
"Beatrice does not like Lord Vincent; and does not approve of the marriage," she said defiantly.