d not
fulfil Augusta's prediction that he would say it was a fast day, and
refuse. That evening gave Phoebe her best _tete-a-tete_ with him, but
she observed that all was about Whittingtonia, not one word of the past
summer, not so much as an inquiry for Miss Charlecote. Evidently that
page in his history was closed for ever, and if he should carry out his
designs in their present form, a wife at the intended institution would
be an impossibility. How near the dearest may be to one another, and yet
how little can they guess at what they would most desire to know.

Sir Bevil had insisted on his being asked to perform the ceremony, and
she longed to understand whether his refusal were really on the score of
his being a deacon, or if he had any further motive. His own family were
affronted, though glad to be left free to request the services of the
greatest dignitary of their acquaintance, and Sir Bevil's blunt 'No, no,
poor fellow! say no more about it,' made her suppose that he suspected
that Robert's vehemence in his parish was meant to work off a
disappointment.

It was a dreary wedding, in spite of London grandeur. In all her
success, Juliana could not help looking pinched and ill at ease, her
wreath and veil hardening instead of softening her features, and her
bridegroom's studious cheerfulness and forced laughs became him less than
his usual silent dejection. The Admiral was useful in getting up stock
wedding-wit, but Phoebe wondered how any one could laugh at it; and her
fellow-bridesmaids, all her seniors, seemed to her, as perhaps she might
to them, like thoughtless children, playing with the surface of things.
She pitied Sir Bevil, and saw little chance of happiness for either, yet
heard only congratulations, and had to be bright, busy, and helpful,
under a broad, stiff, white watered silk scarf, beneath which Juliana had
endeavoured to extinguish her, but in which her tall rounded shape looked
to great advantage. Indeed, that young rosy face, and the innocently
pensive wondering eyes were so sweet, that the bride had to endure
hearing admiration of her sister from all quarters, and the Acton
bridemaidens whispered rather like those at Netherby Hall.

It was over, and Phoebe was the reigning Miss Fulmort. Her friends were
delighted for her and for themselves, and her mother entered on the full
enjoyment of the little brougham.

CHAPTER XI

When some dear scheme
Of our life doth