“Is it that abominable country person, Adrian?”

“The happy damsel is, I regret to say, the Papist dairymaid,” said Adrian, in sorrowful but deliberate accents.

Then arose a feminine hum, in the midst of which Mrs. Doria cried, “Brandon!” She was a woman of energy.  Her thoughts resolved to action spontaneously.

“Brandon,” she drew the barrister a little aside, “can they not be followed, and separated?  I want your advice.  Cannot we separate them?  A boy! it is really shameful if he should be allowed to fall into the toils of a designing creature to ruin himself irrevocably.  Can we not, Brandon?”

The worthy barrister felt inclined to laugh, but he answered her entreaties:  “From what I hear of the young groom I should imagine the office perilous.”

“I’m speaking of law, Brandon.  Can we not obtain an order from one of your Courts to pursue them and separate them instantly?”

“This evening?”

“Yes!”

Brandon was sorry to say she decidedly could not.

“You might call on one of your Judges, Brandon.”

Brandon assured her that the Judges were a hard-worked race, and to a man slept heavily after dinner.

“Will you do so to-morrow, the first thing in the morning?  Will you promise me to do so, Brandon?—­Or a magistrate!  A magistrate would send a policeman after them.  My dear Brandon!  I beg—­I beg you to assist us in this dreadful extremity.  It will be the death of my poor brother.  I believe he would forgive anything but this.  You have no idea what his notions are of blood.”

Brandon tipped Adrian a significant nod to step in and aid.

“What is it, aunt?” asked the wise youth.  “You want them followed and torn asunder by wild policemen?”

“To-morrow!” Brandon queerly interposed.

“Won’t that be—­just too late?” Adrian suggested.

Mrs. Doria, sighed out her last spark of hope.

“You see,” said Adrian....

“Yes! yes!” Mrs. Doria did not require any of his elucidations.  “Pray be quiet, Adrian, and let me speak.  Brandon! it cannot be! it’s quite impossible!  Can you stand there and tell me that boy is legally married?  I never will believe it!  The law cannot be so shamefully bad as to permit a boy—­a mere child—­to do such absurd things.  Grandpapa!” she beckoned to the old gentleman.  “Grandpapa! pray do make Brandon speak.  These lawyers never will.  He might stop it, if he would.  If I were a man, do you think I would stand here?”

“Well, my dear,” the old gentleman toddled to compose her, “I’m quite of your opinion.  I believe he knows no more than you or I. My belief is they none of them know anything till they join issue and go into Court.  I want to see a few female lawyers.”

“To encourage the bankrupt perruquier, sir?” said Adrian.  “They would have to keep a large supply of wigs on hand.”