He, therefore, took his leave, having to content himself for the nonce with the tips of Prue's fingers to kiss, and leaving the cousins to the delightful occupation of turning over their recovered wardrobes, and devising the means of making a resplendent appearance at court with their present possessions and the thrifty outlay of Lady Drumloch's fifty guineas.
CHAPTER IX
THE WEDDING
"My mind misgives me," said Margaret, when the two girls were at their toilet the next morning. "'Tis not too late, Prue, for reflection, and if ill betide thee, dear, I shall feel as if I had brought it on thee."
Prue turned from her mirror with a petulant gesture. "Tell me, Peggie, truly," she said, with an air of deep concern, "do you not think the hairdresser has trussed my hair too high on top? Would not a curl or two more on the neck be an improvement? Prithee, unpin this lock and let it fall negligently behind my ear. Ah! that's better." She turned back to the mirror, and regarded her reflection critically. "Am I too pale, Peggie? Do you think a touch of rouge—the least touch—would be becoming?"
"For the wedding, do you mean? Faith, I always thought a pale, pensive bride more interesting. Not that you are either. A shade more color would spoil you. I think you are even a little flushed."
"You are pale, Peggie," said Prue, looking fixedly at her. "What's the matter?"
"Oh! I dreamed all night of troubled water, Prue. You know that's ill-luck! 'Tis not too late to give up this foolish marriage—"
"Foolish marriage! Why, Peggie, 'tis the first wise one I have ever contemplated. And as for a dream, why I dreamed three times running of a black cat, and if anything bodes good luck that does."
"But suppose after all the object of the marriage should fail," urged Margaret.