“As if I should not be just as sorry!” said Babie.  “Oh, Sydney, what a sad world it is!  And there is he going about as manful, and pleased, and merry about this wedding as if it were his own.  And the worst of it is, though I do admire him so, it can’t be real, proper, lover’s love, for I felt quite glad when you said he would never ask me, so it is all wasted.”

The mothers would hardly have liked the subject of the maidens’ talk in their bower, and Barbara bade good-night, feeling as if she should never look at Fordham with the same eyes again; but the light of day restored commonplace thoughts of the busy Monday.

Reeves, having been sent up by his lord with inquiries, found the patient’s toilet so far advanced, that under protest he could only assist in the remainder.  So the hero and heroine met on the stairs, and clasped hands in haste to the sound of the bell for morning prayers in the household chapel, to which they carried their thankful hearts.

The Fordham household was not on such a scale that the heads of the family could sit still in dignified ease on the eve of such a spectacle.  Every one was busy adorning the hall or the tables, and John would not be denied his share, though as he could neither stoop, lift, nor use his right arm, he was reduced to making up wreaths and bouquets, with Lina to supply him with flowers, since he was the one person with whom she never failed to be happy or good.  Fordham was entreated to sit still and share the employment, but his long, thin hands proved utterly wanting in the dexterity that the Monk displayed.  He was, moreover, the man in authority constantly called to give orders, and in his leisure moments much more inclined to haunt his Infanta’s winged steps, and erect his tall person where she could not reach.  Artistic taste rendered her, her mother, and Allen most valuable decorators, and it might be doubted whether Allen had ever toiled so hard in his life.  In pity to the busy servants, luncheon was served up cold on a side table, when Barbara, who had rallied her spirits to nonsense pitch, declared that metaphorically, Fordham and the agent carved the meal with gloves of steel, and that the workers drank the red wine through the helmet barred.  In the midst, however, in marched Reeves, with a tray and a napkin, and a regular basin of invalid soup, which he set down before John in his easy chair.  There was something so exceedingly ludicrous in the poor Friar’s endeavour to be gratified, and his look of dismay and disgust, that the public fairly shrieked with laughter, in which he would fain have joined, but had to beg pardon for only looking solemn; laughter was a painful matter.

However, later in the afternoon, when he was looking white and tired, his host came and said—-

“Your object is to be about, and not make a sensation when people arrive.  Come and rest then;” then landed him on his own sofa in his sitting-room, which was kept sacred from all confusion.