rdingly,
likening herself to him in this respect. But of such wisdom, and such
trimmings, and such adaptability, what likelihood was there with Mr
Crosbie and Lady Alexandrina?

"At any rate, it is too late now," said Lady Amelia, thus concluding
the conversation.

But nevertheless, when the last moment came, there was some little
attempt at glory. Who does not know the way in which a lately
married couple's little dinner-party stretches itself out from the
pure simplicity of a fried sole and a leg of mutton to the attempt
at clear soup, the unfortunately cold dish of round balls which
is handed about after the sole, and the brightly red jelly, and
beautifully pink cream, which are ordered, in the last agony of
ambition, from the next pastry-cook's shop?

"We cannot give a dinner, my dear, with only cook and Sarah."

It has thus begun, and the husband has declared that he has no such
idea. "If Phipps and Dowdney can come here and eat a bit of mutton,
they are very welcome; if not, let them stay away. And you might as
well ask Phipps's sister; just to have some one to go with you into
the drawing-room."

"I'd much rather go alone, because then I can read,"--or sleep, we
may say.

But her husband has explained that she would look friendless in this
solitary state, and therefore Phipps's sister has been asked. Then
the dinner has progressed down to those costly jellies which have
been ordered in a last agony. There has been a conviction on the
minds of both of them that the simple leg of mutton would have been
more jolly for them all. Had those round balls not been carried about
by a hired man; had simple mutton with hot potatoes been handed to
Miss Phipps by Sarah, Miss Phipps would not have simpered with such
unmeaning stiffness when young Dowdney spoke to her. They would have
been much more jolly. "Have a bit more mutton, Phipps; and where do
you like it?" How pleasant it sounds! But we all know that it is
impossible. My young friend had intended this, but his dinner had
run itself away to cold round balls and coloured forms from the
pastry-cook. And so it was with the Crosbie marriage.

The bride must leave the church in a properly appointed carriage, and
the postboys must have wedding favours. So the thing grew; not into
noble proportions, not into proportions of true glory, justifying
the attempt and making good the gala. A well-cooked rissole, brought
pleasantly to you, is good eating. A gala marriage, whe