the Annesleys generally rather than in her way.  She did not regret them very much, and it was not in her nature to be bitter; but still all those little touches about Mr. Prosper were pleasant to her, and were, of course, unpleasant to the Annesleys.  Then, it will be said, she should not have come to partake of a breakfast in Mr. Annesley’s dining-room.  That is a matter of taste, and perhaps Miss Thoroughbung’s taste was not altogether refined.

Joe’s speech came to an end, and with it his aunt’s remarks.  But as she left the room she said a few words to Mr. Annesley.  “Don’t suppose that I am angry,—­not in the least; certainly not with you or Harry.  I’d do him a good turn to-morrow if I could; and so, for the matter of that, I would to his uncle.  But you can’t expect but what a woman should have her feelings and express them.”  Mr. Annesley, on the other hand, thought it strange that a woman in such a position should express her feelings.

Then at last came the departure.  Molly was taken up into her mother’s room and cried over for the last time.  “I know that I’m an old fool!”

“Oh, mamma! now, dearest mamma!”

“A good husband is the greatest blessing that God can send a girl, and I do think that he is good and sterling.”

“He is, mamma,—­he is.  I know he is.”

“And when that woman talks about brewery chimneys, I know what a comfort it is that there should be chimneys, and that they should be near.  Brewery chimneys are better than a do-nothing scamp that can’t earn a meal for himself or his children.  And when I see Joe with his pink coat on going to the meet, I thank God that my Molly has got a lad that can work hard, and ride his own horses, and go out hunting with the best of them.”

“Oh, mamma, I do like to see him then.  He is handsome.”

“I would not have anything altered.  But—­but—­Oh, my child, you are going away!”

“As Mrs. Crabtree says, I sha’n’t be far.”

“No, no!  But you won’t be all mine.  The time will come when you’ll think of your girls in the same way.  You haven’t done a thing that I haven’t seen and known and pondered over; you haven’t worn a skirt but what it has been dear to me; you haven’t uttered a prayer but what I have heard it as it went up to God’s throne.  I hope he says his prayers.”

“I’m sure he does,” said Molly, with confidence more or less well founded.

“Now go, and leave me here.  I’m such an old stupid that I can’t help crying; and if that woman was to say anything more to me about the chimneys I should give her a bit of my mind.”

Then Molly went down with her travelling-hat on, looking twice prettier than she had done during the whole of the morning ceremonies.  It is, I suppose, on the bridegroom’s behalf that the bride is put forth in all her best looks just as she is about to become, for the first time, exclusively his own.  Molly, on the present occasion, was very pretty, and Joe was very proud.  It was not the least of his pride that he, feeling himself to be not quite as yet removed from the “Bung” to the “Thorough,” had married into a family by which his ascent might be matured.