Dilly's wedding took place the following summer, just before Parliament
rose, and the resources of our establishment were strained to the
uttermost to give her a fitting send-off.
It is true that a noble relative, the head of my wife's family, offered
his house for the reception, but Dilly emphatically declined to be
married from any but mine, saying prettily that she would not leave the
roof under which she had lived so happily until the last possible
moment.
Accordingly we made immense preparations. The drawing-room on the first
floor, accustomed though it was to accommodate congested and
half-stifled throngs of human beings, was deemed too small for the mob
of wedding-guests whom Kitty expected.
"You see, dear," she explained, "we can squash up _good_ people as much
as we like, because their clothes don't matter; but women in
wedding-frocks will be furious if they don't get enough elbow-room to
show themselves."
Accordingly a marquee was erected in the garden at the back of the
house, opening into the dining-room through the French windows, and it
was arranged that Dicky and Dilly were to take their stand in the middle
of the same, what time the guests, having lubricated their utterance at
the _buffet_ in the dining-room _en route_, filed past and delivered
their congratulations. After that the company was to overflow into the
garden, there to be moved by a concord of sweet sounds emanating from a
band of assassins in pseudo-Hungarian uniforms.
"And if it rains," concluded Kitty desperately, "they must have an
overflow meeting in the basement--that's all!"
My library, as I had feared, was appropriated for the presents, and for
several days I transacted the business of State at the wash-hand-stand
in my dressing-room, while a stream of callers, ranging from the members
of a Working Men's Club in which Dilly was fitfully interested, down to
an organisation of Kitty's whose exact title I can never recall (but
which Dicky, on first seeing them, immediately summed up as "The Hundred
Worst Women"), filed solemnly past rows of filigree coffee-services,
silver-backed hair-brushes, and art pen-wipers.
Of the bride-elect I saw little, and when I did, she was usually
standing, in a state of considerable _déshabille_, amid a kneeling group
of myrmidons, who, with mouths filled with pins and brows seamed with
anxiety, were remorselessly building her into some edifice of shimmering
silk and filmy lace, oblivious of their victim's plaintive intimations
that she was fit to drop.
Dicky invited Robin to be his best man, a proceeding which, while it
roused some surprise among those who were expecting him to fix upon a
friend of longer standing and greater distinction, showed his good
sense, for my secretary proved himself a model of organisation and
helpfulness. Although born and reared up in the straitest sect of some
Scottish denomination, about which I am unable to particularise beyond
the fact that they regarded the use of harmoniums in churches as "the
worship of men's feet," he betrayed a surprising knowledge of Anglican
ritual and stage effect.
On the wedding morning, having left the bridegroom securely tucked up in
bed, under strict orders not to get up till he was called, Robin
personally conducted a select party of those interested--Dolly, Dilly,
another bridesmaid, and myself--to the church, where he showed us the
exact positions of our entrances and exits; and then proceeded, with the
assistance of Dolly, to plant hassocks about the chancel in such a
manner as to leave us no doubts as to the whereabouts of our moorings
(or "stances," as he called them) at the actual ceremony.
The party was reinforced at this point by the arrival of no less a
person than the bridegroom, who, having risen from his slumbers in
defiance of Robin's injunctions, was now proceeding to infringe the laws
of propriety by coming in search of his beloved four hours before he was
entitled to do so.
However, as Dilly rather pessimistically pointed out, it was probably
the last time she would ever get a kind word out of him, so we gave them
ten minutes together in the porch, while Robin interviewed vergers and
Dolly intimidated perspiring persons with red carpets and evergreens.
On our return home Dilly was snatched away by a cloud of attendant
sprites, and we saw her no more until the time came for me to drive her
to the church. We heard of her, though; for as we sat at luncheon,
plying the bridegroom (who had collapsed after the complete and
inevitable fashion of his kind about twelve o'clock) with raw brandy, a
message came down from the upper regions, to the effect that Miss Dilly
would take a couple of veal cutlets and a glass of Burgundy, as she
wasn't going to be a pale bride if she could help it!
However, this half-hysterical gaiety came to an end in the face of
reality, and in the carriage on the way to church poor Dilly wept
unrestrainedly on my shoulder. I mopped her up to the best of my
ability, but she was still sobbing when we reached the church door, to
find the six bridesmaids, together with Phillis (inordinately proud of
her office of train-bearer), preening themselves in the porch.
It had been arranged that the organ should break into "The March of the
Priests," from 'Athalie'--Dicky's petition in favour of an
ecclesiastical rendering of "The Eton Boating Song" had been thrown out
with ignominy--as the bridal procession entered the nave. Unfortunately
the organ-loft was out of sight of the west door, by which we were to
enter, and the conveyance of the starting-signal to the proper quarter
at exactly the right moment was a matter of some difficulty. However,
Robin's gift for stage-management was sufficient to meet the emergency.
When all was ready Dolly calmly mounting the steps of the font to an
eminence which commanded a precarious but sufficient view of the body of
the church, briefly fluttered a scrap of lace handkerchief, and then
stepped demurely down into her place at the head of the bridesmaids.
Simultaneously the organ burst into the opening strains of Mendelsohn's
march--I suppose Robin had been waiting at some point of vantage to pass
the signal on--and we advanced up the aisle, amid a general turning of
heads and flutter of excitement.
The church was packed. In the back pew I remember noticing three young
men with pads of flimsy paper and well-sucked pencils. I distinctly
caught sight of the words "Sacred edifice" in the nearest MS., and I
have no doubt the others contained it as well.
But Dilly was still quaking on my arm, and the only other spectacle
which attracted my attention on the way up the aisle was that of my wife
(looking very like a bride herself, I thought), sitting in a front pew
with Master Gerald, that infant phenomenon shining resplendently in a
white waistcoat and a "buttonhole" which almost entirely obscured his
features. Then I caught sight of Robin's towering shoulders and the pale
face and glassy eye of the bridegroom, and I knew that we had brought
our horses to the water at last, and all that now remained to do was to
make them drink.
The rest of the ceremony passed off with due impressiveness, if we
except a slight _contretemps_ arising from the behaviour of my daughter,
who, suddenly remembering that the junior bridesmaid but one had not yet
passed any opinion on her new shoes, suddenly sat down on the bride's
train, and, thrusting the shoes into unmaidenly prominence, audibly
invited that giggling damsel's approbation of the same. However, the
ever-ready organ drowned her utterance with a timely Amen, and Dicky and
Dilly completed the plighting of their troth with becoming shyness but
obvious sincerity.
Then came the inevitable orgy of osculation in the vestry, from which I
escaped with nothing worse, so to speak, than a few scratches, despite
an unprovoked and unexpected flank attack (when I was signing the
register) from an elderly female in bugles, whom I at first took to be a
rather giddy pew-opener, but who ultimately proved to be a maiden aunt
of the bridegroom's.
After Dicky and Dilly--the latter miraculously restored to high spirits
and looking radiant--had passed smiling and blushing down the aisle, to
be received outside with breathless stares by a large assemblage of that
peculiar class of people--chiefly females of a certain age--who seem to
spend their lives in attending the weddings of total strangers, we all
got home, where there was much champagne, and cake-cutting, and
bride-kissing, and melody from the aforementioned musicians in the
garden.
The presents--guarded with an air of studied aloofness by a
wooden-jointed detective, clad in garments of such festal splendour as
to delude several short-sighted old gentlemen into an impression that he
was the bridegroom--played their usual invaluable part in promoting
circulation among the guests, and supplying a topic for conversation.
They certainly sparkled and glittered bravely in the library, where the
blinds were drawn and the electric lamps turned on. (Kitty had seen to
that. Silver looks so well by artificial light, and so, by a happy and
unpremeditated coincidence, does the female sex.)
The bride and bridegroom departed at last, amid a shower of rice, with
that emblem of conjugal felicity, the satin slipper, firmly adhering to
the back of the brougham. (Master Gerald had seen to _that_.) Then the
guests began to make their adieux and melt away, and presently we found
ourselves alone in the marquee, a prey to that swift and penetrating
melancholy that descends upon those who begin to be festive too early in
the day, and find themselves unable to keep it up till bed-time.
* * * * *
However, there was a recrudescence of activity and brightness in the
evening, as the idea of a small dance had been proposed and carried, and
the invitations issued and accepted, during the five minutes which
witnessed the departure of the more intimate section of the guests.
When I returned from the House about midnight--I had gone there chiefly
to dine, as lobster claws and melted ices appeared to be the only fare
in prospect at home--tired to death, and conscious of an incipient cold
in the head, arising from forced residence in a house in which hardly a
door had been on its hinges for three days, I became aware that I was
once again the lessee of a cave of harmony.
The pseudo-Hungarian assassins were pounding out the latest waltz, with
a disregard for time and tune which I at first attributed to champagne,
but which a closer survey proved to be due to the fact that the band was
being conducted, surprising as it may seem, by my brother-in-law, who
had kindly undertaken to wield the _bâton_, while the Chief Tormentor
(or whatever his proper title may have been) charged himself anew at the
refreshment counter. A popping of corks in the supper-room apprised me
of the fact that my guests were doing their best, at my expense, to make
the Excise Returns a more cheerful feature of next year's Budget.
I went upstairs in search of a white waistcoat and one or two other
necessary contributions to the festivity of the evening, picking my way
with the utmost care among the greatly-engrossed couples who impeded
every step; and finally arrived at my dressing-room, to find that that
hallowed apartment had been turned into a ladies' cloak-room, and that
every available article of furniture stood elbow-deep under some
attractive combination of furs and feathers.
I unearthed the things I required, but lacked the courage to stay and
put them on. At any moment I might be invaded by a damsel who had met
with some mishap in the heat of the fray, and was now desirous, as they
say in the navy, of "executing repairs while under steam." I accordingly
left the room and mounted towards the top of the house. I had in my
mind's eye a snug little apartment, situated somewhere in the attics,
devoted chiefly to dressmaking operations, where I knew there was a
mirror, and I might complete my toilet in peace.
With becoming modesty I penetrated to this haven by the back-stairs. I
had just reached the top, which was opposite the door in question, when
I heard voices. Evidently some one was coming up to this same landing by
the front stair.
A man does not look his best when found creeping up his own back-stairs
with a white waistcoat in one hand and a pair of pumps in the other, and
I confess I retreated downwards and backwards a couple of paces. The
stair on which I stood was unlighted, and I had a good view of the
landing.
The voices came nearer, and I could now hear the rustling of silks and
laces. Presently I recognised the voices, and immediately after this
their owners came into view, with their backs almost towards me.
"This is the room I mean," said the man, indicating my goal.
"That! All right! Only I don't see why you should drag me all the way up
here," said the girl. "There are much nicer sitting-out places
downstairs. Still, anything for a rest. Come on!"
She entered the room, followed by her partner. I saw his broad back for
a moment as it filled the doorway. Then he turned in my direction with
his hand on the handle, and it seemed to me that he hesitated a moment.
Finally he shut the door firmly, and--I distinctly heard the key turned
in the lock.