“Well,” said Lord Frogmore, “I shouldn’t, for my part, think the people who call down curses were very likely to be heard up there--do you think so, my dear? If they are it is not in accordance with anything we know. Curses are only in use in romance books. And as for believing that Mrs. John has any credit in that quarter I don’t, Mary. I’d back the old women in the almshouses against twenty Mrs. Johns.” It was very profane--still it introduced a view of the subject which proved, after a while, consolatory to Mary. She recognized reason in it. And the presence of the old lord, who was so cheerful and self-possessed, and was afraid of nobody, was also very supporting, as Mrs. Hill said. He had the confidence of a man who had always been accustomed to have his own way, and to be baulked by nobody, which is a great prop to the minds of people who have the persistent sensation, due to the records and traditions of many failures, that something is always likely to interpose between the cup and the lip. Lord Frogmore did not take any such contingency into consideration. When he found that Mary’s cold was so obstinate he changed all his plans with the most lordly indifference to calculations and resolved to take her to the Riviera for what he had too much sense to call the honeymoon. “Moons,” he said to Mr. Hill, “do not drop honey when the bridegroom is sixty-seven, but I hope to make it very pleasant to Mary for all that.” And this was exactly what he did. The marriage and all the little fuss and excitement--for the parish was moved from one end to the other for the vicar’s daughter and her wonderful match--shook her up and roused her spirits. And she wanted to do credit to the old lord, and would not have him carry off a bride with watery eyes and a red nose. So that even before they left Grocombe, Mary had recovered herself. She had a few wedding presents, for her friends were not rich enough to send anything worthy of a lady who was going to be a viscountess. But there was one which moved her much, and amused the old lord. The family at the hall had taken no notice of what was going on in the vicarage--indeed it was so rough a man’s house that the amenities of life were disregarded altogether. But the day before the wedding Ralph Ravelstone, who had been known to be at home, but had showed very little, appeared at the vicarage with a stable-boy behind him leading a colt. He went in to the house, leaving this group at the gate, and paid his respects to the family, where he was received without enthusiasm. “You see I’ve come back,” he said. “Yes, we heard you had come back,” said Mrs. Hill. “Mary would tell you. I’m rather put out about Mary. I always meant,” said Ralph, “to marry her myself. Oh, I don’t mind if Frogmore hears. He’s a connection of mine and very jolly. I always meant to marry her myself.” “You showed your good taste, Mr. Ralph; but I am glad that I was first in the field,” said Lord Frogmore.