“I’m sure it’s more than Janet Carey could have expected,” said Cattledon, growing pacified as she listened. “She’s a poor thing. I hope she will make a good wife.”
“I will risk it, Miss Cattledon.”
“And she shall be married from my house,” struck in Miss Deveen. “Johnny, if you young Oxford blades can get here for it, I will have you all to the wedding.”
And we did get there for it: I, and Tod, and William Whitney, and saw the end, so far, of Janet Carey.
HELEN WHITNEY’S WEDDING.
I.
“What a hot day it is going to be!” cried the Squire, flinging back his thin light coat, and catching the corner of the breakfast-cloth with it, so that he upset the salt-cellar. “Yesterday was about the hottest day I ever felt, but to-day will be worse.”
“And all the jam-making about!” added Mrs. Todhetley.