“Oh! I can’t tell, only because I think it would be so droll—but I should like it of all things—and then the new chaise-and-four, and the favours, and driving off in such a bustle, and all the people in the street staring at one; and one’s wedding-ring, and one’s new name; it would all be so charming. If I was you, Lady Fitzhenry, I think I should have rung the bell the minute I was married, to have had the pleasure of hearing the servant say, ‘Yes, _my Lady_.’ Oh! I have another great favour to ask,” continued Miss Selina, who had by this time satisfied her curiosity about the gown and veil; “do let me see your picture of Lord Fitzhenry.” Emmeline assured her she had none to show her. “No? Dear, how odd! I thought when people were married, they had always their picture painted in miniature as a thing of course, and I had even settled beforehand how _ours_ should be done—I all in clouds and thin drapery by Mrs. Mee, you know, and he in armour.” “And who is the _he_ whose costume you have already fixed upon?” enquired Lady Saville. “Oh! I don’t know; whoever I may chance to marry. But, Lady Fitzhenry, how did it happen that you had no miniatures done? for yours was a regular marriage, was it not? Every body delighted, and jewels and plate, and all that sort of thing; and then Lord Fitzhenry is so handsome. Lady Saville, don’t you think Lord Fitzhenry is the most beautiful man you ever saw, and the most agreeable?” “Why I don’t know how far I may venture to answer that question. What would Sir George say?” replied Lady Saville, laughing. “Oh! Sir George is very tall and good looking too, and dresses himself very well; but still he does not put on his neckcloth near so well as Lord Fitzhenry; and after all, the neckcloth is the principal thing in a man, and Lady Fitzhenry is certainly the most fortunate of people; but she takes her good luck very quietly, I must say—not even to have talked of her wedding gown! was it not strange?” By this time every thing was thoroughly admired, examined, and descanted upon in Emmeline’s room, and many a question put to her, which she found rather difficult to answer. “Well, where do we proceed to next?” said Lady Saville, going out into the gallery. “What room is this?” pointing to Ernest’s. “Oh! that is Lord Fitzhenry’s,” answered Emmeline hastily; “we had better not go there.” “Why not?” enquired Lady Saville. “He may be engaged with business,” replied Emmeline, conscious she was colouring. “Engaged? why you know he is out hunting twenty miles off; but at any rate, we may knock and demand admission.” And she knocked at the door. No sound was to be heard, and she turned the lock. “Why I really believe, Lady Fitzhenry,” continued she, “you are afraid of going in, for fear of finding all my worthy cousin’s former _cheres amies_ hanging round the room on pegs, like Blue-beard’s wives.”