“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.”

“So it is, child,” replied the Doctor, in the most matter-of-fact spirit; “but you know that even Unions can be divided.  When I was induced to the Union of Ballycomeasy and Ballycomsharp I—­”

“But, Doctor,” said Roberts, “I beg your pardon, I have interrupted you.  Will you have the kindness to proceed? my fair partner, here, is very anxious to hear your little homily—­are you not, my love?”

Lady Emily was certainly pressed rather severely to maintain her gravity—­in fact, so much so, that she was unable to reply, Robert’s composure being admirable.

“Well,” resumed the Doctor, “as I was saying—­Marriage may be divided into three heads—­”

“For heaven’s sake, make it only two, if possible, my dear Doctor,” said Roberts:  “the appearance of a third head is rather uncomfortable, I think.”

—­“Into three heads—­first, its duties; next, its rights; and lastly, its tribulations.”

The Doctor, we may observe, was in general very unlucky, in the reception which fell to the share of his little homily—­the fact being with it as with its subject in actual life, that his audience, however they might feel upon its rights and duties, were very anxious to avoid its tribulations in any sense, and the consequence was, that in nineteen cases out of twenty the reverend bachelor himself was left in the midst of them.  Such was his fate here; for at this moment Sir Thomas Gourlay entered the drawing-room, and approaching Lady Emily, said, “I have to apologize to you, Lady Emily, inasmuch as it is I who am to blame for Miss Gourlay’s not having seen you sooner.  On a subject of such importance, it is natural that a father should have some private conversation with her, and indeed this was the case; allow me now to conduct you to her.”

“There is no apology whatsoever necessary, Sir Thomas,” replied her ladyship, taking his arm, and casting a rapid but precious glance at Roberts.  As they went up stairs, the baronet said, in a voice of great anxiety,

“You will oblige me, Lady Emily, by keeping her from the looking-glass as much as possible.  I have got her maid—­who, although rather plain in her manners, has excellent taste in all matters connected with the toilette—­I have got her to say, while dressing her, that it is not considered lucky for a bride to see herself in a looking-glass on the day of her marriage.”