“They will not,” cried her ladyship, angrily. “Sir Grantley Wilters is coming, and her nose is as red as a servant girl’s, while your eyes are half swollen up. After all my pains—after all my anxiety—never was mother troubled with such thankless children.”
“Poor old girl!” said Tom, taking a good sip of brandy-and-seltzer.
“Anthony!” cried her ladyship, “you must not touch her. You are crushing her veil and those flowers. Oh, this is madness.”
Madness or not, before she could check the natural action, the earl had taken his elder daughter in his arms, and kissed her lovingly, patting and stroking her sweet face, as, regardless of wreath and veil, she flung her arms round his neck and nestled closely to him.
“Bless you, my darling. I hope you will like India,” he said, “Rather warm, but they make delicious curries there. I hope you will be very very happy;” and the tears trickled down his furrowed countenance as he spoke.
“I’ll try to be, papa dear,” she whispered, making an effort to speak firmly.
“That’s right, my dear. The trains are very comfortable to Brindisi, and Tom says that Goole isn’t such a very bad fellow.”
“Anthony, are you quite mad!” cried her ladyship, wringing her hands till her diamonds crackled. “Are you all engaged in a conspiracy against me? Such a display is perfectly absurd. The child will not be fit to be seen at the church.”
“Yes, yes, mamma dear,” said the girl cheerfully. “There, there, Maude will put me straight in a few moments. Kiss me, dear, and I’ll go upstairs again; it must be nearly time.”
For the sake of the dresses of herself and daughter, her ladyship did not let the bride come too close, but brushed the cheek lightly with her lips; and then the girl turned to her brother, holding out her hands.