now we knew him
for the bride's angry parent pursuing her relentlessly with a coach and
pair. It did sound odd to hear this fine old English aristocrat bawl out
in a common voice, "Ain't ye ready yet--what?"

One of the photographers ran along the road and explained and
gesticulated. The coach stopped at a distance. I flew into the
Blacksmith's Shop to put on my wedding things, and Sir S. disappeared
next door with clothes under one arm and a hat under the other. I should
think no bride and bridegroom ever dressed in such a scramble.

Mrs. James, dimpling and fussing, hustled me into a green brocade gown
which smelt of moth powder, and was so big that it went on easily over
my frock. Then came a purple silk cloak with wide flowing sleeves and a
romantic hood. One of the photograph men stood by to direct us; and when
Mrs. James was putting the hood over my head, he stopped her. "Madam, if
I might ask the young lady to take the pins out of her hair," he begged,
quite red with eagerness, "we shall get a great dramatic effect if it
tumbles down with the pulling back of the hood, just as her lover helps
her out of the chaise."

Her lover indeed! Sir S. would have glowered; but I laughed, and out
came the hairpins, for the good of the game. I have always had to "make
believe" all alone, so it was extra fun having such a grand playfellow
as Sir Somerled--whether he liked it or not. And I determined that I
would _make_ him like it! I wanted him to play properly, and not be
stiff and disagreeable and grown up. He was ready before I was, and
waiting; for it took a little while stuffing all my hair safely into the
hood, and practising how to let it fall at the right moment. I hadn't
quite realized that my playmate was really handsome, in his dark, proud
way, till I saw him in a wavy brown wig with a ribbon-tied queue, a
broad-brimmed hat that sat dashingly on one side, shadowing his face; a
blue overcoat with a cape, and high boots drawn up to his knees. He
looked so splendid, and so young that suddenly my heart beat as if I
were really and truly in love.

"If you should look at yourself in the glass," I said, feeling shy, yet,
wishing him to know that he was nice, "you'd never say again that you've
outgrown romance. No one would suspect you of being anything so dull as
a millionaire. You ought to paint your own portrait in that costume."

"Thanks," said he, "I'd rather do you in yours." But I think he was
pleased.

The ph