The dinner was not a very lively affair. Nothing but the having Theresa at my side saved me from wishing myself a hundred miles away. In vain my uncle strove to be cheerful; in vain he told his best stories; in vain he indulged in little flirting allusions to matrimony, and winked out, so to speak, those little modest jokes which are universally held to be permissible on the occasion of the presence of a newly married couple. God knows no man ever tried to laugh more resolutely than I did; but my hoarse notes were as destitute of mirth as a raven’s croak. Had I wept I should have shown myself more sympathetic; for my uncle’s humour tottered on the very verge of tears. Theresa did all she could: tried her relations on twenty different subjects, then out of sheer weariness took refuge in silence. Curling was so nervous, he could scarcely eat. I felt for him--yes, my whole heart went out to him--when he knocked a wine-glass full of claret over the table-cloth. The wine wasn’t redder than his face, I promise you. “Don’t bother,” said my uncle, seeing the poor fellow spoon the wine up. “Sprinkle some salt over it,” said Conny, looking abject. It was plain to everybody that Theodore had been scarcely able to handle his knife and fork for nervousness, that though he might have known how to behave with perfect propriety, fear of his mother-in-law bereft him of his knowledge and hurried him into _grossièretés_. For instance, he refused to begin until the others were helped; insisted upon passing whatever was set before him to Mrs. Hargrave; eat up his bread in a trice and hopelessly entangled himself in a wild complication of knives, forks, spoons, and glasses. I doubt if he would have committed a single blunder had my aunt been absent. Ah, Eugenio, _you_ know what it is to have a mother-in-law watching you with a foregone prejudice of the bitterest kind rankling in her eyes. I know a young man whom his mother-in-law made so anxious and apprehensive that, before dinner was over, he had kicked both his boots off under the table, and would have joined the ladies in his socks had not a good-natured footman directed his attention to the state of his feet. Tears were in Conny’s eyes before the dessert was brought in; and I felt so heartily sorry for the poor girl and her yet more-to-be-pitied husband, that addressing my uncle, I exclaimed, “Aren’t we going to drink to the happiness of the bride and bridegroom?” hoping that the hearty expression of our good wishes would render them happier and force some of the acidity out of my aunt’s face. “Certainly,” he replied. We then filled our glasses and all spoke at once, to the effect that the young people would enjoy a long life and unbounded happiness: Theresa speaking very feelingly and my aunt nodding her head with a face that expressed everything but the prevailing sentiment.