“Now, doctor, you should not encourage Clara’s strange notions. There’s a carriage. I must go. Do calm the child. She is not fit to be seen.” “That’s just true, mamma. It’s exactly what I feel.” “All this nonsense, besides being in bad taste, is against common sense,” the doctor said, not noticing his wife’s flurry. “Marriage festivals should take place after marriage, if at all, when the union has proved a success, and there is something to rejoice over. _This_ is like celebrating the purchase of a lottery-ticket.” Mrs. Forest left in despair. The twins bore the “coddling,” as they called the father’s tender manifestations to his favorite child, as long as they could, and then they begged him to go, as they had “only a half hour to dress”; by which they meant but a very small part of the operation, being bathed, and coiffed, and dressed already, except for the robes and veils. “Well, go on with your dressing,” the doctor said, provokingly. “_I_ don’t mind girls’ dressing, or undressing, for that matter. On the whole, I rather like this flummery, and I think I won’t go without a consideration.” “I’ll give you two kisses, papa, if you’ll go this minute.” “Oh, fie! You were always too mercenary with your favors, Leila. I’ll take the kisses, though; but not for going.” The doctor on leaving, went to his wife’s room, where she was fuming because of his want of sense on such an occasion. “There is not ten minutes,” she said, “and you have not done one thing toward dressing.” “Bless my soul! I never once thought of it,” he answered. “Why, I’m to put on that new claw-hammer. If I should fail to wear that, the earth’s inclination to the ecliptic would be disturbed.”