Mr. Errol was the
colonel's right hand man. The second couple was united, and, amid the
strains of the wedding march on the parlour organ, there went on
salutes, congratulations, and hysterical little weepings, until the
serious business of affixing signatures in the vestry called the
contracting and witnessing parties to order. Then they retired to
Bridesdale, where there was a wedding breakfast, at which Mr. Perrowne,
elated with liberal fees, was the soul of jocularity, and Mr. Douglas
let the cat out of the bag as to his relations with Miss Graves. Mr.
Bangs sang "He's a jolly good fellow" to every toast indiscriminately.
The Squire was felicitous in his presidential remarks; but Mr. Terry
broke down at the thought of parting with Madame and with Miss Ceshile
that was. Mr. Errol made a good common-sense speech, and alluded
roguishly to the colonel's setting a good example that even ministers
were not too good to follow. Marjorie, in the dignity of a bridesmaid,
slipped away to bring Cousin Marjorie down, and was accompanied by the
new brides, who hugged Miss Carmichael, and implanted motherly and
sisterly kisses on the cheek of the only man who was left out of the
festivities.
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