There was no rain, only a soft autumnal mist, which took the fresh crispness out of tulle bonnets, and the artificial undulations out of feminine _bandeaux_. But the wedding was a success in spite of the weather. There was no weeping during the ceremonial, and it was only when the dowager kissed her niece in the vestry that one solitary teardrop glittered in each of that matron's piercing eyes. The bridegroom was in the highest spirits, though in the midst of his gaiety a very close observer--if such people ever were to be found in a wedding-party--might have detected an under current of deeper feeling near akin to tears. There was the usual monument of crystallised sugar, and silver foliage, and artificial orange-blossom; the usual combination of the savoury solidity of Fortnum and Mason, with the airy frivolity and bilious sweetness of Gunter; the usual popping of corks, and pleasant sound of frozen liquids trickling into cool, fragile glasses; the usual protestations from young ladies who infinitely preferred tea or coffee to sparkling hock or moselle, but who, overcome by masculine persuasion, generally ended by drinking the latter; the usual open renunciation of her sex from the one fast young lady generally to be found in every party, who always happens to sit next an officer, and who tells him confidentially that she likes sparkling moselle, and doesn't believe in the girls who pretend not to like it. Nor could the breakfast reasonably be expected to come to an end without a little speechifying. The judge, in a few appropriate, well-rounded sentences, invoked for his guests all those impossible blessings which it is the fashion to pray for at a wedding-breakfast; while, in the heat of returning thanks for these good wishes, Mr. O'Boyneville was betrayed into speaking of his host as "his ludship," and on more than one occasion addressed his audience as "ladies and gentlemen of the jury." And by-and-by appeared the traditional chariot and post-horses, driven by that blue and antique postillion who seems to emerge from the shadows of the past only on such occasions. And then there was a little animated flirtation in the hall among the nine unmarried young ladies and the cavalry officers; while the listless young gentlemen looked on with countenances expressive of unutterable scorn; and elderly Anglo-Indian merchants and lawyers, and red-faced Anglo-Indian colonels and majors gathered comfortably round their host at one end of the long table in the dining-room, telling old Anglo-Indian stories, and laughing at old Anglo-Indian jokes. In due time Lady Cecil came down the broad old-fashioned staircase, dressed in pale-grey silk, and wearing an airy bonnet that seemed constructed soley with a grey feather and a large full-blown blush-rose, while the handsomest of her aunt's Indian shawls draped her slender figure like a classic mantle of scarlet and gold. Mrs. MacClaverhouse had insisted upon her niece wearing this shawl and no other.