"Well," he said—"well, I regret it. But, Lydy, we might utilize the occasion? Refreshment is always considered genteel at a marriage. Why not combine your supper with our wedding? We can be married to-morrow night. Dr. Lavendar is coming, I presume? I can get the license in the morning."
Miss Lydia was silent; the color came into her face, and she put her hand up to her lips in a frightened way. "Oh, I—don't know," she faltered. "I—I am not—not ready—"
"Oh," William urged, "never mind about being ready; I should be the last to wish you to go to any of the foolish expense of dress customary on such occasions. Yes, Lydy, it is an opportunity. Do agree, my dear; we will save money by it."
Miss Lydia drew in her breath; she was very pale; then suddenly she nodded. "Well, yes," she said. "I will, if you want to, William. Yes, I will."
"I will communicate with Dr. Lavendar," said Mr. Rives, joyfully, "and ask him to hold himself in readiness, but not to speak of it outside." Miss Lydia nodded, and, closing the door, went back to her engrossing affairs. Presents and a party and a wedding—no wonder the poor little soul was white and dizzy with excitement!
Long will Old Chester remember that occasion: The little house, lighted from garret to cellar; candles in every possible spot; flowers all about; the mantel-piece heaped with bundles; William King's bird-cage hanging in the window; Uncle Davy's fiddle twanging in the kitchen; and Miss Lydia in front of the smoky fireplace, banked now with larkspurs and peonies—Miss Lydia in a light, bright blue silk dress trimmed with lace; Miss Lydia in white kid gloves, buttoned with one button at the wrist, and so tight that the right glove split across the back when she began to shake hands. Oh, it was a great moment.... No wonder she was pale with excitement! ... She was very pale when William Rives arrived—arrived, and stood dumfounded!—staring at Miss Lydia; staring at the packages which were now finding their way into astonished hands; staring at the refreshment-table between the windows, at the great, frosted cake, at the bottles of Catawba, at Mrs. Barkley's spoons stuck into tall glasses of wine jelly. Mr. Rives stood staring at these things, his small eyes starting out upon his purpling cheeks, and as he stared, Miss Lydia, watching him, grew paler and paler.
"MISS LYDIA, WATCHING HIM, GREW PALER AND PALER"
Then, suddenly, William, stealthily, step by step, began to back out of the room. In the doorway he shouldered Mrs. Barkley, and, wheeling, turned upon her a ferocious face: