It was the eve of Adeline’s wedding. She was the eldest daughter, and the first to leave the parental roof. “Adeline is a smart girl, and will do well for herself,” her fond mother had been wont to say: and Adeline certainly had done well, according to her parents’ ideas, for she had secured Michael Rosen, the proprietor of the Acme Furnishing Company—a man who had come over from Poland twenty years ago to start life (English life) as an itinerant vendor of jewellery, and who was now at the head of the furnishing trade in his particular line. Adeline’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Friedberg, had been introduced to him by the minister of the synagogue which they attended, with the understanding, that if the parties came to terms, and a marriage ensued, the Rev. Isaac Abrahams should pocket an ample commission.
At the wedding-breakfast, which took place at the Hotel Cecil, the Rev. Isaac, in the course of his speech, lightly mentioned the fact that marriages were made in heaven, and unblushingly thanked Providence for having brought the happy bridal couple together. Every one remarked how touchingly and beautifully he spoke.
It is not so difficult to give an eloquent speech when the champagne flows as freely as water, and one has a substantial cheque snugly reposing in one’s pocket-book. The Rev. Isaac Abrahams was a happy man that day; he possessed feelings of benevolence towards all mankind.
Adeline looked very charming in her bridal finery, and excited envy in the hearts of a good many mothers and daughters present. She had a choral and floral wedding, a full account of which, including a list of all the wedding presents, would appear in the Jewish World and the Queen; and she was the prospective mistress of a beautiful house in Fitzjohn’s Avenue, Hampstead, and another in Brunswick Terrace, Brighton. Could any girl wish for more? True, the bridegroom would never see forty again, and he was neither good-looking nor well-bred; but wealth covers a multitude of other deficiencies, and one cannot have everything. So, every one agreed that Adeline was a very fortunate girl, and Adeline herself thought so too.
She was ecstatically happy for exactly twenty-four hours after the ceremony.
The first part of their honeymoon was spent at a farm-house ten miles from anywhere, where, if they had been so inclined, they could have made love to their heart’s content, without the least fear of any disturbance. Mike chose this place because his bride had once remarked in his hearing that she adored the country—which she did in the abstract.
It is so nice to think of green fields, and leafy lanes, and bleating lambs, and twittering birds—when one is in town.
Adeline had never spent a whole day in Mike’s company before, and very soon grew tired of his society. During their short engagement he had come to see her every evening, but had spent most of his time in the smoke-room with her father, and she had seen very little of him. Perhaps, if she had seen more of him, she would not have become his wife. Now that she was entirely dependent upon him for companionship, however, she wondered how they would get on together. His sole topic of conversation was furniture—“ferniture,” he pronounced it. His had been one of the first firms to introduce the “easy payments” system on an extensive scale, and Mike was justly proud of the fact. Adeline wondered, a trifle contemptuously, if he considered her part of his household “ferniture.” She was at least ornamental, if not altogether useful.
Life at the farm was not exciting, and at the end of the third day, the young bride had a bad attack of the blues. She was not particularly interested in watching the pigs fed and the cows milked; and what was the good of all her pretty frocks and lovely jewels when there was no one to see and admire them. It was all very well for Mike. He sat on the top of a haystack, dressed in flannels, nearly all day; and as long as he had a fat cigar to smoke, a glass of whisky to drink, and a furniture catalogue to read, he was perfectly happy. But even he was bored when, on the fourth day, it began to rain, and forgot to leave off; and when Friday came round, he suggested a trip to Blackpool, to which his wife willingly agreed.
Blackpool was a decided improvement to the farm, but the wet weather followed them even there, so, at the end of a very dull fortnight, they turned their faces homewards. It was quite delightful to see dear old smoky London once more.