'Hein! The 24th? You'll be in London, and a very good thing too.'

'Are we to go so soon?'

'Yes. Didn't I tell you to take that house in Berkshire Road from the
20th?'

'I did not think we were to start so soon. Is there any particular
reason?'

'Yes. That Scotch girl ought to have known better than to ask you in
your deep mourning. I thought women made a great point of such things.'

'Aunt Jane did not seem to think it wrong,' said Nuttie, for she really
wished much for consent. Not only had she grown fond both of Mark and
Annaple, but she had never been a bridesmaid, and she knew that not
only the Kirkaldys but Mr. Dutton had been invited; she had even
ventured on offering to lodge some of the overflowing guests of the
Rectory.

'Their heads are all turned by that poverty-stricken Scotch peerage,'
returned Mr. Egremont; 'or the Canoness should have more sense of
respect.'

Nuttie's wishes were so strong that she made one more attempt, 'I need
not be a bridesmaid. They would not mind if I wore my black.'

'I should, then!' said her father curtly. 'If they don't understand
the proprieties of life, I do. I won't have you have anything to do
with it. If you are so set upon gaiety, you'll have enough of weddings
at fitter times!'

It was the old sneering tone. Nuttie felt partly confounded, partly
indignant, and terribly disappointed. She did care for the sight of
the wedding--her youthful spirits had rallied enough for that, but far
more now she grieved at missing the sight of Mr. Dutton, when he was
going away, she knew not where, and might perhaps come on purpose to
see her; and it also made her sore and grieved at being accused of
disregard to her mother. She was silenced, however, and presently her
father observed, in the same unpleasant tone, 'Well, if you've digested
your disappointment, perhaps you'll condescend to write to the agent,
that I expect the house to be ready on the 21st.'

Nuttie got through her morning's work she hardly knew how, though her
father was dry and fault-finding all the time. Her eyes were so full
of tears when she was released that she hardly saw where she was going,
and nearly ran against her aunt, who had just walked into the hall.
Mrs. Egremont was too prudent a woman to let her burst out there with
her grievance, but made her come into the tent-room before she
exclaimed, 'He is going to take me away to London; he won't let me go
to the wedding.'

'I am