“How comfortable! how pretty!” all exclaimed. “Did you fit up this room yourself?” enquired Lady Saville. Emmeline answered, that she found it as it was when she first came to Arlingford. “What a delightful, gallant husband!” said Lady Saville. “Now that was his foreign education; all men should be sent abroad before they marry, to be properly drilled; it improves them wonderfully.” Poor Emmeline could not quite assent to this observation. “Oh! dear, dear Lady Fitzhenry!” said the purse-making young lady, (by name Miss Selina Danvers,) flying up to her and seizing her hand with ecstatic fondness, “I have the greatest possible favour to ask of you; pray, pray grant it—it is to let me see your wedding-dress; I shall be more obliged to you than I can express.” “There is nothing remarkable to see,” said Emmeline, coldly, not feeling the smallest wish to behold, or have discussed, what brought back so painfully to her mind the day on which she wore it. “That is really being very modest,” said Lady Saville, “for it was beautiful, and, moreover, you looked remarkably pretty in it; and I own I was rather provoked at my worthy cousin Fitzhenry’s excessive stupidity or bashfulness, for I don’t think he ever looked at you. I never saw a man appear so completely stupified, and put out as he was at his marriage; and when I wished him joy, he stared, and looked as silly and sheepish as possible. Love certainly had upon him the direct contrary effect from what it had on Cymon.” “Dear, how odd!” exclaimed Miss Danvers. “But who is Mr. Cymon, and what did it do to him? Now don’t laugh at me so, one can’t know every body; and I don’t go every year to London as you do.” This new scent about Cymon, however, could not put the wedding finery out of Selina’s head, and she teazed poor Emmeline till she obtained from her a reluctant consent that her maid and the gown should be rung for; and soon the whole paraphernalia was exhibited with pride and pomp by Mrs. Jenkins. Miss Selina went into ecstasies at each separate flower and flounce, and putting the veil over her head, she flew to the glass to look at herself. “What a beauty it is!” she exclaimed. “Dear, how I should like to be married! one looks so interesting in a lace gown and veil. Lady Fitzhenry, were you very much frightened at the ceremony? did you cry? For my part, I don’t think I should be able to keep my countenance for laughing.” “At what?” demanded Lady Saville. “Oh! I don’t know at what, in particular; but I think it would be so odd for me to be married.” “Why should it be more odd to you than any one else?” rejoined Lady Saville.