It was a well-bred family, and the disparity of age was not allowed to be even hinted at. The marriage was to be considered a love-match on both sides: that was the social fiction, though everybody knew what was said and thought. Lady Dunquerque had got the boy off her hands very well: there was an excellent establishment, and a good position, with a better one to follow; as for love--here girls looked at each other and smiled. Love was become a thing no longer possible, except for heiresses, of whom there are never too many. Fifty years of age and more; a harsh voice, a hard face, a hard manner, an unsympathetic, exact woman, wrinkled and gray-haired,--how, in the name of outraged Cupid, could such a woman be loved by such a lad? But these things were not even spoken,--they were only conveyed to each other by looks, and smiles, and nods, and little movements of the hands. 'I think, Robert,' said Lady Dunquerque, 'that you had better go up and call Algernon.' Sir Robert obediently rose and departed. When he came down again, his face, usually as placid as the face of a sheep, was troubled. 'Algernon will not take any breakfast,' he said. 'Nonsense! the boy must take breakfast. Is he dressed?' Lady Dunquerque was evidently not disposed to surrender her authority over her son till he had actually passed into the hands of his wife. 'Yes, yes,--he is nearly dressed,' stammered her husband. 'Well, then, go and tell him to come to breakfast at once, without any nonsense.' Sir Robert went once more. Again he came back with the intelligence that the boy refused to come down. Thereupon Lady Dunquerque herself went up to his room. The two girls looked at each other with apprehension. Algy was hot-headed: he had already, though not before his mother, made use of very strong language about his bride; could he be meditating some disobedience? Horrible! And the guests all invited, and the day arrived, and the boy's wedding outfit actually ready! 'What did he say, papa?' one of them asked. I cannot tell you, my dear. I wash my hands of it. Your mother must bring him to reason. I have done my best.' Sir Robert answered in a nervous trembling manner not usual with him. 'Does he ... does he ... express any unwillingness?' asked his daughter. 'My dear, he says nothing shall make him marry the lady. That is all. The day arrived and everything. No power on earth, he says, shall make him marry the lady. That is all. What will come to us if her ladyship cannot make him hear reason, I dare not think.' Just then Lady Dunquerque returned. Her husband, trembling visibly, dared not lift his eyes. 'My dear girls,' she said, with the calmness of despair, 'we are disgraced for ever. The boy refuses to move. He disregards threats entreaties, everything. I have appealed to his obedience, to his religion, to his honour--all is of no avail. Go yourselves, if you can. Now, Sir Robert, if you have anything to advise, let me hear it.'