He was very much with Anna, but neither her lover nor her relations seemed to take any exception to his attendance. She was so nearly married now that there could be no danger of his supplanting her betrothed, and besides, he was her near cousin, poor fellow, they argued, and so Mr. Dick was allowed to dance attendance upon Miss Anna, while Mr. Alexander amused and interested himself in his “child.”
The wedding of the affianced pair was fixed to take place early in the new year, at Old Lyon Hall, whither the whole of both families would meet to do honor to the nuptials.
“Anna, you have not invited me to the wedding,” said Dick one day, as they stood together in the recess of the bay window.
“Well, I invite you now, Dick! Come and be Alick’s best man.”
“I’d see him drowned first, dash him! I’d sooner be his headsman!” said the young man, grinding his teeth.
“Then why do you wish to come to his wedding?” asked Anna, elevating her eyebrows.
“Did I say I ‘wished’ it? Don’t jump to conclusions, Anna. I don’t wish it. I merely reminded you that I was not invited. You remember the fairy that was not invited to the princess’s christening? She came all the same, but her christening gift proved no blessing. I shall go to your wedding, Anna, but the wedding present that I shall lay upon your table will be no peace-offering,” he whispered between his white lips.
She turned pale, and then red, and then she laughed to conceal her agitation, as she answered:
“Don’t be melo-dramatic, whatever you are. None but stage-struck apprentices ever are so. All that sort of thing is obsolete. If a young man is crossed in love, he had better marry for money. Alick and I must marry and settle like other sensible people. He will devote himself to improving the race of oxen and the growth of corn, and amuse his leisure with politics; I shall draw prizes for poultry, butter, and perhaps flowers. Life is prose, not poetry, Dick.”
“Look at that child. She does not think as you do,” said Richard, bitterly.