you would not, Prue?"

"Bless me, child, how could I? I must take care of my poor dear father,
and he isn't pleasant in the least, you know, but would wear my life out
in a week. I really pitied him, however, when I refused him, with a
napkin round his neck, and he tapped his waistcoat with a spoon so
comically, when he offered me his heart, as if it were something good to
eat."

"How very funny! What made him do it, Prue?"

"He said he'd watched the preparations from his window, and got so
interested in weddings that he wanted one himself, and felt drawn to me
I was so sympathetic. That means a good nurse and cook, my dear. I
understand these invalid gentlemen, and will be a slave to no man so fat
and fussy as Mr. Mac, as my brother calls him. It's not respectful, but
I like to refresh myself by saying it just now."

"Never mind the old soul, Prue, but go and have your breakfast
comfortably, for there's much to be done, and no one is to dress me but
your own dear self."

At this Prue relapsed into the pathetic again, and cried over her sister
as if, despite the omen, brides were plants that needed much watering.

The appearance of the afflicted Maria, with her face still partially
eclipsed by the chamomile comforter, and an announcement that the
waiters had come and were "ordering round dreadful," caused Prue to
pocket her handkerchief and descend to turn the tables in every sense of
the word.

The prospect of the wedding breakfast made the usual meal a mere
mockery. Every one was in a driving hurry, every one was very much
excited, and nobody but Prue and the colored gentlemen brought anything
to pass. Sylvia went from room to room bidding them good-by as the child
who had played there so long. But each looked unfamiliar in its state
and festival array, and the old house seemed to have forgotten her
already. She spent an hour with her father, paid Mark a little call in
the studio where he was bidding adieu to the joys of bachelorhood, and
preparing himself for the jars of matrimony by a composing smoke, and
then Prue claimed her.

The agonies she suffered during that long toilet are beyond the powers
of language to portray, for Prue surpassed herself and was the very
essence of fussiness. But Sylvia bore it patiently as a last sacrifice,
because her sister was very tender-hearted still, and laughed and cried
over her work till all was done, when she surveyed the effect with
pensive satisfaction.

"You are