"My dear child!" exclaimed her ladyship, in a tone of remonstrance, and leaning one hand upon a chair so as not to disarrange the folds of her costly moire antique, she tenderly applied the corner of her lace handkerchief to her lips, and after gazing at it furtively to note a soft pink stain, she watched her son as he poured a liberal allowance of pale brandy into a tall engraved glass, skilfully sent the cork flying from a seltzer bottle, filled up the glass with the sparkling mineral water, before handing it to his father. "There, gov'nor," he exclaimed; "try that." "Tom, my dear child, no, no," cried her ladyship. "Anthony! No! Certainly not." "Yes, there is too much brandy, my dear boy," said the old gentleman, hesitating. "Nonsense! Rubbish! You drink that up, gov'nor, like medicine. You're unstrung and ready to break down. Come: have one, mamma." "My dear child!" began her ladyship, as she darted a severe look at her husband--"Ah, my darling." This last was in the most pathetic of tones, for the library door once more opened, and a very sweet-faced fair-haired girl, in her bridesmaid's robe of palest blue, and looking flushed of cheek and red of eye with weeping, led in the bride in her diaphanous veil, just as she had issued from the hands of Justine Framboise, her ladyship's Parisian maid, through which veil, and beneath the traditional wreath of orange-blossoms, shone as charming a face as bridegroom need wish to see. "There," exclaimed the bridesmaid in a tone of forced gaiety, "as Justine says, _ne touches pas_. You are only to have a peep." "Maude, you ridiculous child," cried her ladyship, "you have been crying, and look dreadful, and--there, I declare it is too bad. You have been making your sister weep too." "I couldn't help it, mamma," cried the girl, passionately; and the tears that had been waiting ready burst out afresh. "This is too absurd," exclaimed her ladyship, impatiently. "Maude, you ridiculous girl: you are destroying that costly dress, and the flowers will be all rags." "Yes, why don't you leave off--you two," cried the brother, cynically, "playing at being fond of one another," while the old man looked piteously on. "Oh, Diana, Diana," continued her ladyship, "here have I made for you the most brilliant match of the season--an enormously wealthy husband, who literally worships you--" "I don't believe he cares for her a bit," cried Maude, flushing up, speaking passionately, and giving a stamp with her little white kid boot. "And if I were Di, I wouldn't marry a snuffy old man like that for anybody. I'd sooner die." "Die game, eh?" cried Tom. "Do you hear, Di?" "Silence!" exclaimed her ladyship in a tone of authority that seemed to quell the girl's burst of passion. "How dare you!" "Pray don't be cross, mamma," said the bride, quietly. "She could not help crying. The marks will soon pass away."