The wedding took place at two o’clock, so that there were no speeches or breakfast, only a glorified tea with champagne, at which the rector of the parish, _vice_ Sir Henry Graves, who declared himself quite incapable of public speaking, proposed the bride and bridegroom’s health in a few well-chosen words and a Latin quotation. Edward responded, stuttering horribly, saying with much truth, but by inadvertence, “that this was the proudest moment of his wife’s life,” whereat Henry smiled grimly and everybody else tittered. Then the company wandered off to inspect the marriage offerings, which were “numerous and costly”; the newly married pair vanished, and reappeared in appropriate travelling costume, to be driven away amid showers of slippers and rice, and after a little feeble and flickering conversation the proceedings terminated. Mr. Levinger and Emma were the last to go. “You look tired, Graves,” said the former, as his trap came round. “Yes,” he answered, “I never was more tired in my life. Thank Heaven that it is done with!” “Well, it is a good business well over, and, even if you don’t quite like the man, one that has many advantages.” “I dare say,” Henry replied briefly. “Good-bye, Miss Levinger; many thanks for coming. If you will allow me to say so, I think that dress of yours is charming, with those shimmering ornaments moonstones, are they not?” “I am glad you like it, Sir Henry,” she answered, looking pleased. “By the way, Graves,” broke in Mr. Levinger, “can you come over next Friday week and stop till Tuesday? You know that old donkey Bowles rears a few pheasants in the intervals of attending the public-house. There ought to be three or four hundred to shoot, and they fly high on those hillside covers too high for me, anyway. If you can come, I’ll get another gun or two there’s a parson near who has a couple of pupils, very decent shots and we’ll shoot on Saturday and Monday, and Tuesday too if you care for driven partridge, resting the Sabbath.” “I shall be delighted,” answered Henry sincerely. “I don’t think that I have any engagement; in fact, I am sure that I have none,” and he looked at Emma and, for the first time that day, smiled genially. Emma saw the look and smile, and wondered in her heart whether it were the prospect of shooting the three or four hundred pheasants that “flew high” with which Henry was delighted, or that of visiting Monk’s Lodge and herself. On the whole she thought it was the pheasants; still she smiled in answer, and said she was glad that he could come. Then they drove off, and Henry, having changed his wedding garments for a shooting coat, departed to the study, there to smoke the pipe of peace.