In the midst of these busy preparations I had no time to think.  My senses were excited.  I was dazed, stunned, wrapped round by a kind of warm air of hot-house happiness, and this condition of moral intoxication increased as the passing of the days brought fresh developments.

Our neighbours began to visit us.  My father had been right about the great people of the island.  Though they had stood off so long, they found their account in my good fortune, and as soon as my marriage was announced they came in troops to offer their congratulations.

Never, according to Tommy the Mate, had the gravel of our carriage drive been so rucked up by the pawing feet of high-bred horses.  But their owners were no less restless.  It was almost pitiful to see their shamefacedness as they entered our house for the first time, and to watch the shifts they were put to in order to account for the fact that they had never been there before.

Aunt Bridget’s vanity was too much uplifted by their presence to be particular about their excuses, but my father’s contempt of their subterfuges was naked and undisguised, and I hardly know whether to feel amused or ashamed when I think of how he scored off them, how he lashed them to the bone, with what irony and sarcasm he scorched their time-serving little souls.

When they were very great folks, the “aristocracy” of Ellan, he pretended not to know who they were, and asked their names, their father’s names, and what parishes they came from.

“Some of the Christians of Balla-Christian, are you?  Think of that now.  And me a born Ellanman, and not knowing you from Adam!”

When they were very near neighbours, with lands that made boundary with our own, he pretended to think they had been twenty years abroad, or perhaps sick, or even dead and buried.

“Too bad, ma’am, too bad,” he would say.  “And me thinking you were under the sod through all the lonely years my poor wife was ill and dying.”

But when they were insular officials, who “walked on the stars,” and sometimes snubbed him in public, the rapier of ridicule was too light for his heavy hand, and he took up the sledge-hammer, telling them he was the same man to-day as yesterday, and only his circumstances were different—­his daughter being about to become the lady of the first house in the island, and none of them being big enough to be left out of it.

After such scenes Aunt Bridget, for all her despotism within her own doors, used to tremble with dread of our neighbours taking lasting offence, but my father would say: 

“Chut, woman, they’ll come again, and make no more faces about it.”

They did, and if they were shy of my father they were gracious enough to me, saying it was such a good thing for society in the island that Castle Raa was to have a lady, a real lady, at the head of it at last.

Then came their wedding presents—­pictures, books, silver ornaments, gold ornaments, clocks, watches, chains, jewellery, until my bedroom was blocked up with them.  As each fresh parcel arrived there would be a rush of all the female members of our household to open it, after which Betsy Beauty would say: