, "would shift all the shame on to me. It was I
who broke my word, acted shabbily from beginning to end."

"I hadn't looked at it in that light," she replied. "Very well, I'll
hold my tongue."

My place at breakfast was to the left of the maternal Sellars, the
Signora next to me, and the O'Kelly opposite. Uncle Gutton faced the
bride and bridegroom. The disillusioned Joseph was hidden from me by
flowers, so that his voice, raised from time to time, fell upon my ears,
embellished with the mysterious significance of the unseen oracle.

For the first quarter of an hour or so the meal proceeded almost in
silence. The maternal Sellars when not engaged in whispered argument
with the perspiring waiter, was furtively occupied in working sums upon
the table-cloth by aid of a blunt pencil. The Signora, strangely unlike
her usual self, was not in talkative mood.

"It was so kind of them to invite me," said the Signora, speaking low.
"But I feel I ought not to have come.

"Why not?" I asked

"I'm not fit to be here," murmured the Signora in a broken voice. "What
right have I at wedding breakfasts? Of course, for dear Willie it is
different. He has been married."

The O'Kelly, who never when the Signora was present seemed to care much
for conversation in which she was unable to participate, took advantage
of his neighbour's being somewhat deaf to lapse into abstraction. Jarman
essayed a few witticisms of a general character, of which nobody took
any notice. The professional admirers of the Lady 'Ortensia, seated
together at a corner of the table, appeared to be enjoying a small
joke among themselves. Occasionally, one or another of them would laugh
nervously. But for the most part the only sounds to be heard were the
clatter of the knives and forks, the energetic shuffling of the waiter,
and a curious hissing noise as of escaping gas, caused by Uncle Gutton
drinking champagne.

With the cutting, or, rather, the smashing into a hundred fragments,
of the wedding cake--a work that taxed the united strength of bride
and bridegroom to the utmost--the atmosphere lost something of its
sombreness. The company, warmed by food, displaying indications of being
nearly done, commenced to simmer. The maternal Sellars, putting away
with her blunt pencil considerations of material nature, embraced the
table with a smile.

"But it is a sad thing," sighed the maternal Sellars the next moment,
with a shake of her huge head, "when your daugh