‘It is indeed,’ says she, carefully examining the moonstone set in diamonds.  ‘Did you choose it yourself, George?’

‘Didn’t give me credit for so much taste, eh?’

‘No, I don’t think I did,’ replies Lippa, quietly slipping out of the room.

She wants to be alone, to think a little, it all seems so strange and lovely; this time to-morrow she will be Mrs Dalrymple—­Mrs Dalrymple! how funny it sounds—­and Jimmy will be all her own, and they will go away together;—­and she sinks into a dream of delight, seeing the future only as a golden mist through which she and her husband will pass side by side.  And she suddenly falls upon her knees, and buries her golden head in her hands, and breathes forth an earnest prayer of heartfelt gratitude to the great God who orders all things.

    ’The Divinity that shapes our ends,
    Rough hew them as we will.’

The next morning, her wedding day, dawns at length; the first thing she hears are some sparrows chirping outside, and anxious to see if it is fine, she goes to the window and draws up the blind, letting in a whole flood of crimson light.

It is one of those lovely days in London when there is just a little breath of wind stirring among the trees that prevents it from being sultry, and everyone seems to expand to the warmth and look happy.  It is still quite early, two or three costermongers’ carts are being wheeled along by their owners, fresh from Covent Garden; a lark belonging to the house opposite is singing merrily despite its small cage, and Lippa smiles as she recalls the old saying, ’Blessed is the bride whom the sun shines on.’

As sleep seems impossible and rather loud voices are heard from overhead, she throws a loose wrapper round her and goes up to the nurseries.  Teddy is in his bath and no power on earth can persuade him to get out, in vain Marie gesticulates and calls him ’Un bien mechant gamin,’ Teddy knows he has the best of it, as whenever she comes near he throws water at her.

‘Oh, Teddy!  Teddy!’ exclaims Philippa, opening the door, ’do be a good boy, or else you know, you could not be my page.’

Teddy, surprised at his aunt’s sudden appearance, ceases to splash about and regards her gravely.

‘I shall be your page if I’m good then,’ he says.

‘Certainly,’ replies Philippa, ’get out of the bath now and after your breakfast you shall come to my room.’

Teddy looks longingly at the water and then at her, finally with a deep sigh he gets out of the bath and submits to being rubbed dry by Marie.

The morning wears on and five minutes after the appointed time Lippa calm and very lovely in her bridal attire, walks up the aisle of St P——­ leaning on her brother’s arm, and there before the altar takes James Dalrymple to be her husband, for better, for worse, till death them do part.

Into further details there is no need to go; weddings are all alike, you will say, except, of course, when you happen to be one of the chief parties concerned.  There was of course, the orthodox best man, bridesmaids, and spectators, the lengthy signing of the register and last but not least Mendelssohn’s wedding march.  I wonder how the world could have got on without it!