"Well?"
"You rang, sir."
"No, confound you! I did not ring."
"Beg pardon, sir, I'm sure, sir. Electric bell's a little out of order,
sir. Tell-tales show wrong numbers, sir."
"I engaged a suite of private rooms in this hotel, and there's not a bit
of privacy."
"Very sorry, sir, indeed."
"And look here, waiter."
"Yes, sir."
"When you address me it is customary to say Sir Mark."
"Of course, Sir Mark; my mistake, Sir Mark. I'll mind in future."
"Has the carriage arrived?"
"Not yet, Sir Mark."
"Thank you; that will do. No; a moment. The wedding breakfast.
Everything is quite ready, I hope?"
"The head waiter has it in 'and, Sir Mark, and the table looks lovely."
"Thanks. Ahem! a trifle now. I shall remember you when I leave. I
spoke a little testily just this minute. A little out of order, waiter.
Touch of my old fever, caught in the East."
The waiter smiled and bowed as he pocketed a new five-shilling piece,
and looked with fresh interest at the fine looking, florid, elderly man
who kept pacing the room with a newspaper in his hand as he talked.
"Anything more I can do, Sir Mark, before I leave the room?"
"Hang it all, no, sir," cried the old officer, flashing out once more
irritably. "This is not a public dinner, and I have given you a vail."
"Of course, Sir Mark; and I didn't mean--"
"Then why did you use that confounded old stereotyped waiter's
expression? I wonder you did not hand me a toothpick."
"I beg your pardon, Sir Mark, I'm sure."
"Go and read `Peter Simple,' and take Chuck's, the boatswain's, words to
heart."
"Certainly, Sir Mark," and the waiter hurried to the door, leaving
Admiral Sir Mark Jerrold muttering, and in time to admit a charmingly
dressed, fair-haired bridesmaid in palest blue, and wearing a handsome
diamond locket at her throat, and a few bright pearls on her cheeks,
living pearls, just escaped from her pretty, red-rimmed eyes.
"`Trencher scraping--shilling seeking--napkin carrying.' Ah, Edie, my
darling--all ready?"
"Yes, uncle, dear; but, oh, you do look cross!"
She clung to his arm and put up her lips to kiss the old man, whose face
softened at her touch.
"No, no, my dear, not cross; only worried and irritable. Hang it, Edie,
my pet, it's a horrible wrench to lose her. No hope of that scoundrel
Stratton breaking his neck, or repenting, or anything, is there?"
"Oh, uncle dear, don't. Myra is so happy. She does love him so."
"And her poor old father's nobody now."
"You don't think so, uncle," said the girl, smiling through her tears,
as she rearranged the old officer's tie, and gave a dainty touch to the
stephanotis in the buttonhole of his blue frock coat. "And you know you
want to see her happily married to the man she loves, and who loves her
with all his heart."
"Heigho! I suppose so."
"And I've come down to ask if you'd like to see her. They're just
putting the last finishing touches."
"So we may," cried Sir Mark eagerly. "Does she look nice?"
"Lovely, uncle; all but--"
The girl ceased speaking, and looked conscious.
"Eh? All but what?"
"You will see, uncle, directly. I will not say any more about it. She
would have her own way."
"Here, I'll come at once."
"No, no, uncle dear; I'll go and fetch her down."
"And make a parade of her all through this confounded caravanserai of an
hotel!" cried the old man testily. "I can't think why she persisted in
having it away from home."
"Yes, you can, uncle dear," said the girl soothingly. "It was very,
very natural. But do, do be gentle with her. She is so ready to burst
into tears, and I want her to go off as happy as the day."
"Of course, Edie, my dear; of course. I'll bottle it all up, and then
you and your old fool of an uncle can have a good cry together all to
ourselves, eh? But I say, little one, no hitches this time in the
anchorage."
"There very nearly was one, uncle."
"What!" roared the old man, flushing.
"But I set it right with a telegram."
"What--what was it? Stratton going to shuffle?"
"Oh, uncle, absurd! The bouquet for the bride had not come."
"Pooh! A woman can be married without a bouquet."
"No, no, uncle! But I sent off a message, and Mr Guest brought it
himself."
"Then he has been again."
"Uncle! Why, he's Malcolm Stratton's best man."
"He's the worst man I know. I loathe him."
"You don't, uncle."
"Yes, I do, and I'm not blind. Do you suppose I want to be left to a
desolate old age. Isn't it bad enough to lose Myra without--"
"Oh, uncle!" cried the girl, whose cheeks were crimson, "there isn't a
moment to lose;" and she darted to the door, leaving the admiral
chuckling.
"A wicked little pirate! How soon she showed the red flag aloft. Ah,
well, it's nature--nature, and one mustn't be selfish. Not much chance.
I don't know what we're born for, unless it's to be slaves to other
people."
He turned over his newspaper, and began running down the list of
marriages.
"Here they are," he muttered, "all going the same way," and he stood
musing sadly upon the question of the young women's quitting the old
hives, till the door was opened again and Edie Perrin ushered in her
cousin, tall, graceful, and with that indescribable look of love and
happiness seen in a bride's eyes on her wedding morn.
"Here she is, uncle," cried Edie, who then uttered a sob, and rushed
away with a rustling noise to hide the tears she could not restrain.
"My darling!" cried the old man huskily as he drew his child to his
breast; "and am I to feel that it is quite right, and that you are
happy?"
"Oh, so happy, father; so content at last--at last," she whispered as
she clung to him lovingly. "Only there is one thing."
"Eh? What--what?" cried the admiral excitedly.
"Leaving home and you."
The old man drew a deep breath full of relief.
"Oh, pooh, pooh, nonsense, my pet," he cried, looking at her beautiful
pensive face proudly; "don't mind that; I'm glad of it."
"Glad, father?"
"No, no, not to lose you, my darling, but for you to go away with the
man you love and who loves you. I hate him for taking you, but he is a
splendid fellow, Myra. What a sailor he would have made!"
"Yes, father."
"If they had not spoiled him by getting all that natural history stuff
in his head. But I say, my darling," he continued as he held his child
at arm's length, admiring her, but pushing up his hand.
"Yes, dear?"
"Isn't this a little too--too punctilious? Very lovely, dear; you look
all that a man could wish for, but it's a wedding, my pet, and you--you
do not quite look like a bride."
"What do the looks matter?" she said with a dreamy look in her large
eyes.
"Well, I don't know. Woman ought to please her husband, and isn't it a
mistake to dress--well, to parade that nonsense about your being a
widow."
"Nonsense, dear?" said Myra, smiling sadly. "It was no nonsense.
Whatever that man may have been I swore at the altar to be his faithful
wife."
"Till death did you part, eh? Yes, yes, yes," said the admiral testily,
"but he's dead and gone and forgotten; there is no need to dig him up
again."
"Papa!"
"Well, I mean by going to what will be a real wedding in half mourning."
"Malcolm agreed that I was right, dear."
"Oh, then I'm wrong. Only, if I had known, I should have put my foot
down--hard. Why, even Edie was hinting at it just now."
"Let the past rest, dear," said Myra gently.
"After this morning--yes, my darling. But I always feel as if I ought
to apologise to you, Myra."
"No, no, dear."
"But I say yes. The clever, plausible scoundrel dazzled me, and I
thought your opposition only maidenly shrinking. Yes, dazzled me, with
his wit and cheery manners, knowledge of the world, and such a game,
too, as he played at piquet. It was ashore, you see, and he was too
much for me. If I'd had him at sea it would have been different. I was
to blame all through--but you forgive me all the misery I caused you?"
"My dear father!"
"Ah, there I am crushing your dress again. Stratton's a lucky dog, and
we'll think it was all for the best."
"Of course, dear."
"Showed what a good true-hearted fellow he was--sort of probationer,
eh?"
Myra turned her head. She could not speak--only clung to the parent she
was so soon to leave.
"Then good-bye to James Barron, alias Dale, and all his works, Myra.
Oh, dear me! In a very short time it will be Mrs Malcolm Stratton, and
I shall be all alone."
"No, you will not, uncle," said Edie, who had entered unobserved after
letting off a fusillade of sobs outside the door, and her pretty grey
eyes a little redder, "and you are not to talk like that to Myra; she
wants comforting. Uncle will not be alone, dear, for I shall do all I
can to make him happy."
"Bah! A jade, a cheat, my dear. Don't believe her," cried the admiral
merrily; "she has a strange Guest in her eye--Hotspur--Percy. Look at
her."
"Don't, Myra dear. Kiss uncle and come back to your room," and after a
loving embrace between father and daughter the bridesmaid carried off
the bride to the room where the travelling trunks lay ready packed, the
bridal veil on a chair; and after the last touches had been given to the
bride's toilet, the cousins were left alone.
"Now, Myra darling, any more commands for me about uncle? We may not
have another chance."
"No, dear," said the bride thoughtfully. "I could say nothing you will
not think of for yourself. Don't let him miss me, dear."
"You know I will not. Bless you, pet; you happy darling, you've won the
best husband in the world. But how funny it seems to have to go through
all this again."
"Hush, dear. Don't--pray don't talk about it."
"I can't help it, Myra; my tongue will talk this morning. Oh, I am so
glad that it will be all right this time."
Myra's brow contracted a little, but her cousin rattled on.
"It has always seemed to me such stuff to talk of you as a widow. Oh,
Myra, don't look like that. What a stupid, thoughtless thing I am."
She flung her arms about her cousin, and was again bursting into tears
when there was a tap at the door, and she shrank away.
"Come in."
One of the lady's maids appeared.
"Sir Mark says, ma'am, that the carriages are waiting, and Miss Jerrold
will not come up."
Myra took her bouquet and turned calmly to her cousin as the maid burst
out with:
"God bless you, Miss Myra--I mean madame. May you be very happy."
The second maid was at hand to second the wish, and the pair performed a
duet in sobs as the cousins swept down the broad staircase to the
admiral's room.
"Time, my dear, time," cried Sir Mark jovially. "Come, Edie, aunt will
be furious if you keep her any longer."
Edie took his arm, but dropped it again to run and kiss her cousin once
again. Then tripping to the old man's side he led her down the broad
staircase and across the hall, now pretty well thronged with visitors,
and the servants in the background to see the departure.
A carriage was in waiting, with a tall, stern looking, grey lady inside.
"Late, Mark," she said sharply. "Come Edie, my child, and let's get it
over."
"You're all alike," said the admiral, as the bridesmaid took her place,
the carriage started, and with head erect the old sailor strode back,
seeing nobody, and went up to his room, to return soon after, amid a
buzz of whispering, proudly leading down the bride.
"And only one bridesmaid," whispered a lady visitor at the hotel.
"Young widow--very private affair--by the lady's wish," was whispered
back loudly enough for Myra and her father to hear as they passed down
the steps.
"Let them chatter," said the old man to himself. "They haven't seen
such a bride for years."
Quite a little crowd followed to the hotel door, there was a general
waving of handkerchiefs, and one lady threw a bouquet of white roses as
the carriage door was shut with a bang, the servant sprang up, and the
next moment the admiral's handsome pair of bays dashed off toward the
great West End church.