"Your father is a very remarkable man, Peter, a very remarkable man indeed."
So at the appointed hour the wheeled-chair took its place, its occupant duly bedecked with the white flower of a blameless life in his buttonhole, before the improvised sort of altar which bore on it a beautiful bunch of late roses; and the Reverend Patrick Bryce with a colour in his usually pale cheeks sailed in very stiff in his starched bands and rustling academical black robes and took his place before it. The bride, composed and cheerful, looking quite virginal in white and orange blossoms, appeared on the arm of Colonel Compton and followed by her bridesmaids, also in white. There were, however, but two of them, for Margaret Muir boldly stalked in separately, attired in a fine new purple gown, and took a place sedately beside Jack Jardine, who stared at her incredulously; for her father's eyes were upon her and scowling disapproval at her disobedience to his commands. She seemed quite indifferent to this, and nodded an encouraging smile to her sisters, who, poor souls, were the only people who showed by their red eyes and general emotion that the occasion was serious and not a mere farce.
So curtly, baldly, shorn of every unnecessary word, every touch of sentiment, the simple formula binding those two sinners in the most holy of bonds went swiftly on, until the Reverend Patrick Bryce closed the register in which Peter, as his father's best man, and Jack Jardine, as family friend, had duly attested the marriage, and stepped down to where Lord Drummuir's chair stood with the new-made Lady Drummuir beside it.
"My part in this pitiable travesty being ended, sir," he said, with a dignified bow, "I take my leave. Before I do so, however, I wish to introduce my wife to you and acquaint you with my marriage--also by special licence--to your daughter. Margaret, my dear!" he added, raising his voice, "oblige me by saying farewell to your father. It is the last time you are likely to see him."
For a second the figure in the purple gown hesitated and gave an agonised glance at her sisters in white; then with her eyes fixed on the small dignified figure of the man to whom she had unreservedly given her whole large heart, her courage returned, she walked forward, her head held high, and faced her father. He was purple with rage, and looked as if he would have a fit.
"Do you mean to tell me," he stuttered, "that you have married that--that jackanapes?"
Her face flushed, her temper was up in a second, and matched his own.
"No, sir; I have married an honourable gentleman of birth equal to my own! It is more than you can say of your bride's----"
"Margaret, Margaret!" came the little parson's warning voice; for, be Lord Drummuir's faults what they may, he was still her father.
But she would have none of it, she was going to have her say for the first and last time of her life; so she went on while the old lord listened, a sort of wicked approval in his eyes. He had not known she was so much his daughter.