She smiled her thanks and kissed him again. Then Lady Maude of the red eyes and nose, took her sister's hand, coming up like a pretty tug to tow off some beautiful craft that had been shattered by a storm in her upper rigging, and bore her off into port for repairs. CHAPTER TWO. NO CARDS. The crossing-sweeper, in a special uniform of rags turned up with mud, had made liberal use of his broom wherever it was not wanted, and now stood in front of Lord Barmouth's house in an attitude as if to draw attention, like a label, to his work--as if in fact morally writing _fecit_. Everything had been done to give _eclat_ to the proceedings, while in addition to the presents which had been on view, fair Italia sent music to lend a charm to the wedding; for Luigi Malsano, the handsome dark performer upon the last newly-improved organ, stood at the edge of the pavement and ground, and smiled--smiled till his fine white teeth glistened in the midst of his great black beard, and every now and then took off his soft felt hat, displayed his long black curls, and rolled his eyes at Dolly Preen, the fair, fresh, country lassie--the young ladies' maid; for Dolly was looking out of the window in company with Justine, her ladyship's attendant, to see the return of the carriages, and the latter exclaimed-- "_Elles sont betes ces choses la_!" and then as Luigi ground and smiled, and raised his hat, Justine uttered a contemptuous-- "_Canaille_!" While Dolly Preen sighed and thought the dark Italian very handsome. She had indulged in the same thought before. "_Voila_!" exclaimed Mademoiselle Justine, as the carriage with its four greys dashed up, and after a little manipulation at the side of the organ, Luigi Malsano rested a well-formed and dirty hand upon the green baize cover of his instrument, and turned out the old ballad-- "'Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be." For after a great deal of scheming the work of the Countess of Barmouth was crowned. She had secured for her daughter a husband in the shape of the British Resident at the court of the Maharajah of Bistreskin, and to herself of selfs she had whispered like the revengeful gentleman in the French romance-- "ÀONEÙ!" For it was all over.