Half an hour later they were back at the Walraven mansion to eat the wedding-breakfast, and then the new-made Mrs. Walraven, with an eye that flashed and a voice that rang, turned upon her liege lord and demanded an explanation.  Mr. Walraven shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.

“My dearest Blanche, I have none to give.  The woman must be mad.  Speak to Mollie.”

“Carl Walraven, do not dare to deceive me on my wedding-day.  You know more of this than you choose to say.”

“Mrs. Walraven, do not raise your angel voice to such a pitch for nothing.  I said before, speak to Mollie.  I say again, speak to Mollie; and here she is.”

“So she is,” said Miss Dane, sauntering in.  “Do you want me to allay a post-nuptial storm already?  Auspicious beginning!  What is it?”

“Who was that woman?” demanded the bride.

“A very old friend of mine, madame.”

“Why did she come to the church and try to stop the marriage?”

“Because she thought I was the bride.  She said so, didn’t she?  And being very well acquainted with me, she was moved with compassion for the deluded man and came to warn him in time.  I explained her little mistake, as you saw, and she apologized handsomely, and—­exit, Miriam.  Isn’t that satisfactory?”

“Are you speaking the truth?”

Miss Dane laid her hand upon her heart, and bowed profoundly.

“Doesn’t Mr. Walraven know her?”

“That is a question I can not take it upon myself to answer.  Mr. Walraven is of age.  Let him speak for himself.”

“I told you before,” said the bridegroom, angrily.  “Let us have no more about it, Blanche, or I may chance to lose my temper.”

He turned on his heel and walked off whistling, and the bride, in her snowy robes and laces, went down to breakfast, trying vainly to clear her stormy brow.  Mollie puckered up her rosy lips into a shrill whistle.

“And this is their wedding-day!  I told him how it would be, but of course nobody ever minds what I say.  Poor guardy! what ever would become of him traveling alone with that woman!  How thankful he ought to be that he has me to go along and take care of him!”

For Mollie had made it an express stipulation, contrary to all precedent, that she was to accompany the happy pair on their bridal tour.  Miss Oleander’s ante-nuptial objections had been faint; Mrs. Walraven, less scrupulous, turned upon her husband at the eleventh hour, just previous to starting, and insisted that she should be left at home.

“It will be ridiculous in the extreme,” exclaimed the bride, “having your ward traveling with us!  Let her remain at home with your mother.”

Mr. Walraven looked his bride steadfastly in the eye for a moment, then sat down deliberately.

“Look here, Mrs. Walraven,” said Mr. Walraven, perfectly cool, “you have made a little mistake, I fancy.  Permit me to rectify it.  Wearing the breeches is a vulgar expression, I am aware, and only admissible in low circles; still, it so forcibly expresses what I am trying to express, that you will allow me to use it.  You are trying to don the inexpressibles, Blanche, but it won’t do.  My ward goes with us on our bridal tour, or there shall be no bridal tour at all.  There! you have it in plain English, Mrs. Carl Walraven!”