"My son says he loves Josephine Hart—Josephine—and he will marry her!"
She gave a laugh, which was worse than any cry, and fell insensible on the floor.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING.
Mrs. Meadowsweet wondered why Beatrice did not come home. It was the night before the wedding. Surely on that night the bride ought to come early to sleep under her mother's roof.
Mrs. Meadowsweet had a good deal to say to her girl. She had made up her mind to give her a nice little domestic lecture. She thought it her duty to reveal to her innocent Beatrice some of the pitfalls into which young married girls are so apt to fall.
"Jane," she said to her handmaid, "Miss Beatrice is late."
"Eh, so she is," responded Jane. Jane was a woman of very few words. Her remarks generally took the form of an echo. Mrs. Meadowsweet thought her a very comfortable kind of body to confide in. Jane was taking away the supper things.
"We were married ourselves, Jane, and we know what it means," continued Mrs. Meadowsweet.