“My! what a swell!” cried Charley Bates, while the two elders looked up complaisant from their rum and water. It was indeed a proud moment for the family.
“The thought I’ve had over this dress!” said the proud mother, with a pull here, and a pinch there to the cracking folds, “for you see there were so many things to think of; the present moment isn’t everything; and if she takes care of it, it will be quite good for next summer, and always a handsome dress for an occasion. And then if they meet friends, and are asked out of an evening, there she is! what could be better? You may say she’s a swell—but lasting was in my mind.”
“It’s a splendid costoom,” said Uncle Sam. “I hope there’s a something in the pocket for luck. And very pretty you look in it, Nancy, and I wish you health to wear it, my dear, and plenty more when that’s done.”
“She must not look for many like this,” said Mrs. Bates; “not just at present, till Sir John comes round. Parents may stretch a point, but I would never have a young woman be hard upon her husband. Turn round, dear, and show the basques. I never saw a dress that did Miss Snips more credit. But Arthur don’t give his opinion. A shawl! Oh, if that isn’t like a man! Cover her up in a shawl on her wedding-day!”
“But what if she catches cold on her wedding-day?” said poor Arthur.
He put his hand caressingly on the pinkness of the shoulder, and looked at his bride with all the show of admiration which he could put on to hide his secret horror. He was worn out with excitement and emotion, which, no doubt, was the reason why this final accident gave him such a shiver of horror.
Nancy, who had grown suspicious as he grew fastidious, took fire instantly. She flung away from his caressing touch.
“I’d better go upstairs again, and put on my old merino!” she cried, with a flush of passion, wheeling round with indignant impetuosity, and a fury of disappointment in her heart. They all caught and held her, while she struggled to get free.
“She was always like that,” cried her mother. “She never could bear a word about her things. Nancy, dear, it ain’t that he doesn’t like it. It’s all his anxiety for you.”
“My dear Nancy, the carriage is here,” cried Arthur, half frantic. “We shall lose the train. The dress is beautiful, but the day is cold and wet—”