“Oh, hang it governor; draw it mild,” whispered Tom.
“Yes, mild,” said his lordship, “mild to a fault. Eh? bless me, what is the matter?”
It was a favourable opportunity for a display of emotion, and her ladyship displayed it beautifully for the assembled company to study and take a lesson in maternal and wifely tenderness. Her beloved child was being handed over to the tender mercies of a man—was about to leave her home—about to be torn away.
Her ladyship burst into an agony of tears—of wild sobbing—for she was a model of all the virtues; but when virtues were made, nature selected another pattern and this one was cast aside.
A sympathetic coo ran round the table, tears were shed, and Tom winked at Charley Melton, who kept his countenance.
Then her ladyship declared that it was “so foolish,” and that she was “quite well now”; and other speeches good and bad were made. And at last the bridegroom’s carriage was at the door; the bride was handed in; there was the usual cheering; white satin slippers and showers of rice were thrown, and the carriage rolled away. For Lady Barmouth had achieved one of the objects of her life—a brilliant match for her elder daughter—leaving her free to execute her plans for Maude.
All had been en règle so far: the hall was filled with company; the sound of wheels was still to be heard rolling down the broad thoroughfare: when “I say, look out,” whispered Tom to his friend. “There she goes.”
It was a coarse way of expressing himself, but “there” “she” did go—to wit her ladyship. Sir Grantley Wilters, whom she hoped some day to call son, was close at hand. It was quite time for her maternal feelings to assert themselves again, and they did, for she sank heavily into the nearest arms.
They were not her husband’s but those of the baronet, most rotten reeds upon which a lady might lean. The result was that as Lady Barmouth gave way, Sir Grantley did the same, and both would have fallen heavily but for Doctor Todd, who seized the baronet in time, and with extraneous help her ladyship was placed in the porter’s great chair.
“Salts, and a little air: she has only fainted,” said the doctor.