Part 8 (1/2)
Then, shrinking back and looking down, she said: ”But I ought to tell you something first, something very serious, which may make you change your mind. I do not, in conscience, feel it right that you should commit yourself till you know.”
”It must be something very dreadful to make me do that.”
”It is dreadful. I am apt to be terribly forgetful.”
”Bless me! So am I. I have pa.s.sed several of my acquaintances lately and have not recognised them, but that was because I was thinking of you.
And I fear I have been very oblivious about my bills; and as to answering letters--good heavens! I am a shocking defaulter.”
”I do not mean that. I have lapses of memory. Why, I do not even remember----”
He sealed her lips with a kiss. ”You will not forget this, at any rate, Betty.”
”Oh, Charlie, no!”
”Then consider this, Betty. Our engagement cannot be for long. I am ordered to Egypt, and I positively must take my dear little wife with me and show her the Pyramids. You would like to see them, would you not?”
”I should love to.”
”And the Sphynx?”
”Indeed I should.”
”And Pompey's Pillar?”
”Oh, Charlie! I shall love above everything to see you every day.”
”That is prettily said. I see we understand one another. Now, hearken to me, give me your close attention, and no fits of lapse of memory over what I now say, please. We must be married very shortly. I positively will not go out without you. I would rather throw up my commission.”
”But what about papa's consent?”
”I shall wire to him full particulars as to my position, income, and prospects, also how much I love you, and how I will do my level best to make you happy. That is the approved formula in addressing paterfamilias, I think. Then he will telegraph back, 'Bless you, my boy'; and all is settled. I know that Lady Lacy approves.”
”But dear, dear aunt. She will be so awfully lonely without me.”
”She shall not be. She has no ties to hold her to the little cottage in Devon. She shall come out to us in Cairo, and we will bury the dear old girl up to her neck in the sand of the desert, and make a second Sphynx of her, and bake the rheumatism out of her bones. It will cure her of all her aches, as sure as my name is Charlie, and yours will be Fontanel.”
”Don't be too sure of that.”
”But I am sure--you cannot forget.”
”I will try not to do so. Oh, Charlie, don't!”
Mrs. Thomas, the dressmaker, and Miss Crock, the milliner, had their hands full. Betty's trousseau had to be got ready expeditiously.
Patterns of materials specially adapted for a hot climate--light, beautiful, artistic, of silks and muslins and prints--had to be commanded from Liberty's. Then came the selection, then the ordering, then the discussions with the dressmaker, and the measurings. Next the fittings, for which repeated visits had to be made to Mrs. Thomas.
Adjustments, alterations were made, eas.e.m.e.nts under the arms, tightenings about the waist. There were fulnesses to be taken in and skimpiness to be redressed. The skirts had to be sufficiently short in front and sufficiently long behind.
As for the wedding-dress, Mrs. Thomas was not regarded as quite competent to execute such a masterpiece. For that an expedition had to be made to Exeter.