the
first, and for which she laid down nothing of its spirit and intent.

Mrs. Ledwith and the sisters--Mrs. Megilp and Glossy--were there, of
course.

Mrs. Megilp had said over to herself little imaginary speeches about
the homestead and old associations, and "Daisy's great love and
reverence for all that touched the memory of her uncle, to whom she
certainly owed everything;" about the journey to New York, and the
few days they had to give there to Mr. Oldway's life-long friend
and Desire's adviser, Mr. Marmaduke Wharne ("_Sir_ Marmaduke he
would be, everybody knew, if he had chosen to claim the English
title that belonged to him"),--who was too infirm to come on to the
wedding; and the necessity there was for them to go as fast as
possible to their estate in the country,--Hill-hope,--where Mr.
Kirkbright was building "mills and a village and a perfect castle of
a house, and a private railroad and heaven knows what,"--all this to
account, indirectly, for the quiet little ordinary ceremony, which
of course would otherwise have been at the Church of the Holy
Commandments; or at least up-stairs in the long, stately old
drawing-room which was hardly ever used.

But none of the people were there to whom any such little speeches
had to be made; nobody who needed any accounting to for its oddity
was present at Desire Ledwith's wedding.

Mr. Vireo officiated; there was something in his method and manner
which Mrs. Megilp decidedly objected to.

It was "everyday," she thought. "It didn't give you a feeling of
sanctity. It was just as if he was used to the Almighty, and didn't
mind! It seemed as if he were just mentioning things, in a quiet
way, to somebody who was right at his elbow. For her part, she liked
a little lifting up."

Hazel Ripwinkley heard her, and told Sylvie and Diana that "that
came of having all your ideas of home in the seventh story; of
course you wanted an elevator to go up in."

Desire Ledwith looked what she was, to-day; a grand, pure woman; a
fit woman to stand up beside a man like Christopher Kirkbright, in
fair white garments, and say the words that made her his wife.
There was a beautiful, sweet majesty in her giving of herself.

She did not disdain rich robes to-day,--she would give herself at
her very best, with all generous and gracious outward sign.

She wore a dress of heavy silk, long-trained; the cream-white folds,
unspoiled by any frippery of lace, took, as they dropped around her,