“You, my dear children, are the parties about to be united?” said he, addressing Roberts and Lady Emily, with a bow that had in it a strong professional innuendo, but of what nature was yet to be learned.
“Yes, sir,” replied Roberts, who at once perceived the good man's mistake, and was determined to carry out whatever jest might arise from it.
“Oh no, sir,” replied Lady Emily, blushing deeply; “we are not the parties.”
“Because,” proceeded the Doctor, “I think I could not do better than give you, while together, a few words—just a little homily, as it were—upon the nature of the duties into which you are about to enter.”
“Oh, but I have told you,” replied Lady Emily, again, “that we are not the parties, Dr. Sombre.”
“Never mind her, Doctor,” said Roberts—assuming, with becoming gravity, the character of the intended husband: “the Doctor, my dear, knows human nature too well not to make allowances for the timidity peculiar to your situation. Come, my, love be firm, and let us hear what he has to say.”
“Yes,” replied the Doctor, “I can understand that; I knew I was right: and all you want now is the ceremony to make you man and wife.”
“Indisputable, Doctor; nothing can be more true. These words might almost appear as an appendix to the Gospel.”
“Well, my children,” proceeded the Doctor, “listen—marriage may be divided—”
“I thought it was rather a union, Doctor.”