"Yes; it's for one of our customers--a Mrs Markham--for a fancy-dress
ball."
"And, pray, where is my wedding-dress?"
"I expect it has been sent to Mrs Markham in mistake for hers."
"And when may I rely on receiving it back from Mrs Markham?"
"Not before to-morrow, at the earliest; it has been put on a train at
Euston--she lives in the North."
"Since I am to be married to-day, it will not be of much use to me
to-morrow, will it? Put this article back in your box. Return it to
Mme. Sylvia, and inform her, with my compliments, that she will hear
from my solicitors. I should imagine that she will probably hear from
Mrs Markham's solicitors also. Take Mrs Markham's fancy costume--and
yourself--away as fast as you possibly can. Eveleen, I will be married
in my going-away dress."
I have little doubt that they were all impressed by what, under the
circumstances, seemed my almost preternatural calmness. Scarcely a word
was spoken by anyone. Even mamma merely remarked that the assistants in
Mme. Sylvia's establishment seemed to be as utter idiots as their
principal; and that, for mamma, was nothing. I bundled her off to
dress, and I made Eveleen and Ellen go too. I attired myself for my
wedding, which was far from what I had intended to do. It had been
arranged that I should be costumed by a sort of committee consisting of
my four bridesmaids, with mamma acting as my supervisor. But since that
arrangement had been made everything had been altered; and as now
nothing remained but my going-away dress, I needed no assistance in
putting on that. With a travelling costume a bridal veil seemed almost
painfully out of place, so I resolved to do without that also. I wore a
hat.
Just as I was putting the finishing touches to my hat there came a
tapping at my bedroom door. When I cried, "Come in!" to my amazement
who should enter but George's best man, Jack Bowles.
"Maud!" he exclaimed. "Whatever's up? Do you know it's nearly two, and
George is almost off his head, and the parson's going to a funeral?"
I turned to him with what he has since assured me was the air of a
tragedy queen.
"I am ready now. We will start at once."
He stared, as well he might.
"Like that?" he cried.
"Like this. You and I will drive to the church together, and I will
explain everything to you as we go." I hurried with him down the
staircase, calling to the others as I went; unseen, unnoticed, a quiver
passed all over me as I recalled how, in the days gone by, with a
prophetic eye, I had seen myself, a vision of snowy white, descend that
staircase "with measured step and slow," surrounded by my bridesmaids.
"Mamma, I'm going to drive to the church with Mr Bowles. You and
Eveleen and Ellen had better follow in another carriage."
"My dear!" mamma's voice came back. "What do you mean? I'm not nearly
ready yet."
"Maud!" Eveleen distinctly shouted.
But I waited for nothing; for no one. Hastening to a carriage with Mr
Bowles, off we started. It was rather an invidious position; there had
been passages with Mr Bowles which made my situation one of some
delicacy. When George told me that he had asked him to be his best man,
I felt that he was hardly the person I should have chosen for the part.
However, I had not quite seen my way to acquaint him with the manner in
which Mr Bowles had behaved at Mrs Miller's dance; to speak of nothing
else. So there we were alone together perhaps for the last time in our
lives. Possibly what had passed between us made him all the quicker to
feel for me in the plight in which--as I explained to him--I found
myself. He showed the most perfect sympathy. Even George could not have
been nicer.
But, for me, disasters were not ended. I was to be the victim of
another before the church was reached. It seems to me that motor
cars are always doing something. As we were passing along the
busiest part of the High Street one of them did something then. It
skidded--or something--and took off one of our back wheels. Down
dropped a corner of the brougham with a crash which sent me flying into
Mr Bowles's arms. Presently, when, apparently uninjured, we found
ourselves standing in the road, the centre of an interested and
rapidly-increasing crowd, we realised that it might have been worse.
"The stars," I murmured, with a presence of mind which, now that I look
back upon it, seems to have been really phenomenal, "are fighting
against me in their courses."
"Poor old George," said Mr Bowles, who was always rather inclined to
slang, "will be fairly off his nut."
All at once I espied papa coming along in a hansom cab. I called out to
him. Stopping the cab he sprang out to us.
"What are you two doing here?" he demanded, in not unreasonable
astonishment. Then he went on to offer exactly the kind of explanation
I had expected. "Do you know, I've been so occupied that I quite
overlooked the fact that I was due with you at half-past twelve. I hope
it made no difference. Where's George?"
"He's at the church."
"At the church? What's he doing there?"
"He's waiting for me to come and be married."
"Waiting? How's that? Aren't you married already?"
"No; and--it--doesn't look--as if--I--ever--shall be."
"Jump into my hansom--you and Bowles--we'll soon see about that."
We jumped in, Mr Bowles and I, and we drove off to the church--to my
wedding!--three in a hansom cab! If ever anyone had foretold that such
a thing would--or could--have happened to me I should have expired on
the spot.
When we reached the church--we did reach it!--we found that such of the
people as remained were standing on the steps or in the doorway.
George, who was nearly distracted, came rushing forward at the
sight of me; the people actually cheered. It appeared that the
clergyman--our vicar--who had been specially retained, had gone to a
funeral; but a curate, of some sort, had been routed out from
somewhere, and he performed the service. Just as it was begun in came
mamma and Eveleen and Ellen. The instant it was over George and I tore
off home, got my trunks--George himself helped to carry them--and
rushed to Charing Cross just in time to catch the boat-train.
When it had started, and he and I were in a compartment alone together,
I put my head on his shoulder and I cried--with joy. Everything had
gone as wrong as it very well could have done; but we were married!