“Miss Cassewary knew all about it.”
“I daresay she did. And so I suppose did Mabel Grex. I had thought that perhaps I might make Mabel a confidante, but—” Then she looked up into his face.
“But what?”
“You like Mabel, do you not? I do.”
“I like her very, very much.”
“Perhaps you have liked her too well for that, eh, Frank?”
“Too well for what?”
“That she should have heard all that I had to say about you with sympathy. If so, I am so sorry.”
“You need not fear that I have ever for a moment been untrue either to her or you.”
“I am sure you have not to me. Poor Mabel! Then they took me to Custins. That was worst of all. I cannot quite tell you what happened there.” Of course he asked her—but, as she had said, she could not quite tell him about Lord Popplecourt.
The next morning the Duke asked his guest in a playful tone what was his Christian name. It could hardly be that he should not have known, but yet he asked the question. “Francis Oliphant,” said Tregear. “Those are two Christian names I suppose, but what do they call you at home?”
“Frank,” whispered Mary, who was with them.
“Then I will call you Frank, if you will allow me. The use of Christian names is, I think, pleasant and hardly common enough among us. I almost forget my own boy’s name because the practice has grown up of calling him by a title.”
“I am going to call him Abraham,” said Isabel.
“Abraham is a good name, only I do not think he got it from his godfathers and godmothers.”
“Who can call a man Plantagenet? I should as soon think of calling my father-in-law Coeur de Lion.”
“So he is,” said Mary. Whereupon the Duke kissed the two girls and went his way—showing that by this time he had adopted the one and the proposed husband of the other into his heart.
The day before the Duke started for London to be present at the grand marriage he sent for Frank. “I suppose,” said he, “that you would wish that some time should be fixed for your own marriage.” To this the accepted suitor of course assented. “But before we can do that something must be settled about—money.” Tregear when he heard this became hot all over, and felt that he could not restrain his blushes. Such must be the feeling of a man when he finds himself compelled to own to a girl’s father that he intends to live upon her money and not upon his own. “I do not like to be troublesome,” continued the Duke, “or to ask questions which might seem to be impertinent.”
“Oh no! Of course I feel my position. I can only say that it was not because your daughter might probably have money that I first sought her love.”
“It shall be so received. And now—But perhaps it will be best that you should arrange all this with my man of business. Mr. Moreton shall be instructed. Mr. Moreton lives near my place in Barsetshire, but is now in London. If you will call on him he shall tell you what I would suggest. I hope you will find that your affairs will be comfortable. And now as to the time.”
Isabel’s wedding was declared by the newspapers to have been one of the most brilliant remembered in the metropolis. There were six bridesmaids, of whom of course Mary was one—and of whom poor Lady Mabel Grex was equally of course not another. Poor Lady Mabel was at this time with Miss Cassewary at Grex, paying what she believed would be a last visit to the old family home. Among the others were two American girls, brought into that august society for the sake of courtesy rather than of personal love. And there were two other Palliser girls and a Scotch McCloskie cousin. The breakfast was of course given by Mr. Boncassen at his house in Brook Street, where the bridal presents were displayed. And not only were they displayed; but a list of them, with an approximating statement as to their value, appeared in one or two of the next day’s newspapers;—as to which terrible sin against good taste neither was Mr. or Mrs. Boncassen guilty. But in these days, in which such splendid things were done on so very splendid a scale, a young lady cannot herself lay out her friends’ gifts so as to be properly seen by her friends. Some well-skilled, well-paid hand is needed even for that, and hence comes this public information on affairs which should surely be private. In our grandmothers’ time the happy bride’s happy mother herself compounded the cake;—or at any rate the trusted housekeeper. But we all know that terrible tower of silver which now stands niddle-noddling with its appendages of flags and spears on the modern wedding breakfast-table. It will come to pass with some of us soon that we must deny ourselves the pleasure of having young friends, because their marriage presents are so costly.
Poor Mrs. Boncassen had not perhaps a happy time with her august guests on that morning; but when she retired to give Isabel her last kiss in privacy she did feel proud to think that her daughter would some day be an English Duchess.
LXXX
The Second Wedding
November is not altogether an hymeneal month, but it was not till November that Lady Mary Palliser became the wife of Frank Tregear. It was postponed a little, perhaps, in order that the Silverbridges—as they were now called—might be present. The Silverbridges, who were now quite Darby and Joan, had gone to the States when the Session had been brought to a close early in August, and had remained there nearly three months. Isabel had taken infinite pleasure in showing her English husband
