“The Pappas had better cut things as short as possible,” he said, the radiance of his face eclipsed. “The girl is overwrought—joyful occasion—too much excitement—— But in our young days who ever heard of a bride fainting at her betrothal?”
“Girls are poor creatures nowadays,” growled Prince Christodoridi. “Leave out the exhortation, Pappa,” he added to the priest, who had prepared a flowery one, and was naturally reluctant to omit it. While he and his patron argued together in low tones, Kyrios Chalkiadi sat down again by Armitage.
“I verily believe the bride dislikes the match as much as the bridegroom,” he said, in his roaring whisper, with a glance of contempt at the stolid Narkissos. “A nasty, sulky fellow—I don’t wonder she doesn’t want him.”
“Can nothing be done?” asked Armitage involuntarily.
His neighbour looked at him in astonishment, then laughed. “You show yourself indeed a perfect stranger here, lord. What could be done, when the parents have arranged matters? You may be sure that in a case like this the young people would rebel, if they thought it would be any use. But they’ll settle down. And let me advise you to exhibit less interest, friend Englishman,” he added warningly. “We know that you English have a taste for interfering in other people’s affairs, but it will do no good to the girl. Ah, I am wanted again!”
The warning he had received held Armitage fast in his place, but it seemed to him like a horrible dream as the veiled figure was brought in once more, supported by the strong arm of Kyrios Parthenios on one side, and by her sister on the other, Princess Christodoridi following anxiously close behind, and keeping back the other women, who were inclined to press unduly close. Narkissos was brought into position again, the rings were blessed, and a reluctant hand was disinterred from under the bride’s draperies. Parthenios Chalkiadi was clearly resolved to do his duty to the utmost. He put the rings on, took them off, and exchanged them, with strict attention to the words the priest was gabbling, and callous disregard of the attitude of the betrothal pair, while his left arm held the bride in a grip which suggested constraint at least as much as support. When the brief ceremony was over, he gave a laugh of relief.
“Sorry to have done you out of your sermon, Pappa. Better keep it for the wedding. Lady Danaë will have got used to the thought of her bridegroom by that time—— Why, what’s this? All-Holy Mother of God! we have betrothed the wrong one after all!”
For the shrinking form on his left had suddenly recovered strength, and stepped forward with extreme confidence to join the bridegroom, from whose countenance the clouds had instantaneously disappeared. Princess Christodoridi, running forward in obvious horror to lift the veil, disclosed the features of Angeliké, and dropped it with a shriek.
“Holy Nicholas! what is this?” roared Prince Christodoridi, charging at the triumphant pair like a wild bull. Angeliké sheltered herself immediately behind the stalwart form of her betrothed, with a trustfulness very pretty to see, and left him to answer, which he did with admirable courage.
“I engaged myself to marry the Lady Angeliké, lord, and I am now betrothed to her.”