It would be vain to enumerate all the De Courcys that were there.  There was the earl, looking very gracious, and talking to the squire about the county.  And there was Lord Porlock, looking very ungracious, and not talking to anybody about anything.  And there was the countess, who for the last week had done nothing but pat Frank on the back whenever she could catch him.  And there were the Ladies Alexandrina, Margaretta, and Selina, smiling at everybody.  And the Honourable George, talking in whispers to Frank about his widow—­’Not such a catch as yours, you know; but something extremely snug;—­and have it all my own way, too, old fellow, or I shan’t come to the scratch.’  And the Honourable John prepared to toady Frank about his string of hunters; and the Lady Amelia, by herself, not quite contented with these democratic nuptials—­’After all, she is so absolutely nobody; absolutely, absolutely,’ she said confidentially to Augusta, shaking her head.  But before Lady Amelia had left Greshamsbury, Augusta was quite at a loss to understand how there could be need for so much conversation between her cousin and Mr Mortimer Gazebee.

And there were many more De Courcys, whom to enumerate would be much too long.

And the bishop of the diocese, and Mrs Proudie were there.  A hint had even been given, that his lordship would himself condescend to perform the ceremony, if this should be wished; but that work had already been anticipated by a very old friend of the Greshams.  Archdeacon Grantly, the rector of Plumstead Episcopi, had long since undertaken this part of the business; and the knot was eventually tied by the joint efforts of himself and Mr Oriel.  Mrs Grantly came with him, and so did Mrs Grantly’s sister, the new dean’s wife.  The dean himself was at the time unfortunately absent at Oxford.

And all the Bakers and the Jacksons were there.  The last time they had all met together under the squire’s roof, was on the occasion of Frank’s coming of age.  The present gala doings were carried on a very different spirit.  That had been a very poor affair, but this was worthy of the best of Greshamsbury.

Occasion also had been taken of this happy moment to make up, or rather to get rid of the last shreds of the last feud that had so long separated Dr Thorne from his own relatives.  The Thornes of Ullathorne had made many overtures in a covert way.  But our doctor had contrived to reject them.  ‘They would not receive Mary as their cousin,’ said he, ‘and I will go nowhere that she cannot go.’  But now all this was altered.  Mrs Gresham would certainly be received in any house in the county.  And thus, Mr Thorne of Ullathorne, an amiable, popular old bachelor, came to the wedding; and so did his maiden sister Miss Thorne, than whose no kinder heart glowed all through Barsetshire.