Part 64 (2/2)
”A wreath of orange blossoms----”
”Oh you good boy!”
”Four pair of gloves: two white--one is safe to break--two dark; very dark: invisible green, or visible black; last the honeymoon. All the rest you must find in the house.”
”What, fit her out with a parcel of old things? so cruel, so unreasonable, dear Edward?”
”Old things! Why, where is all your gorgeous attire from Oriental climes? I see the splendiferous articles arrive, and then they vanish for ever.”
”Now, shawls and Indian muslins! pray what use are they to a bride?”
”Why, what looks nicer than a white muslin dress?”
”Married in muslin? The very idea makes me s.h.i.+ver.”
”Well, clap her on another petticoat.”
”How can you be so childish? Muslin is not the _the thing._”
”No more is running in debt.”
He then suggested that a white shawl or two should be cut into a bridal dress. At this both ladies' fair throats opened on him with ridicule: cut fifty guinea shawls into ten-pound dresses; that was male economy!
was it? Total, a wedding was a wedding: new things always _had_ had to be bought for a wedding, and always would _in secula seculorum._
”New things? Yes,” said the pertinacious wretch; ”but they need not be new-bought things. You ladies go and confound the world's eyes with your own in the drollest way: If Gorgeous Attire has lain long in your drawers, you fancy the world will detect on its glossy surface how long you had it, and gloated over it, and made it stale to your eye, before you could bring your mind to wear it. That is your delusion, that and the itch for going out shopping; oh, I'm down on you. Mamma dear, you open that gigantic wardrobe of yours; and I'll oil my hair, white-wash my mug (a little moan from Mrs. D.) and do the counterjumping business to the life; hand the things down to you, unrol 'em, grin, charge you 100 per cent over value, note them down in a penny memorandum-book, sing out 'Caes.h.!.+ Caes.h.!.+' &c. &c.: and so we shall get all Julia wants, and go through the ritual of shopping without the substantial disgrace of running in debt.”
Mrs. Dodd smiled admiringly, as ladies generally do at the sauciness of a young male; but proposed an amendment. She would open her wardrobe, and look out all the contents for Edward's inspection; and, if the mere sight of them did not convince him they were inappropriate to a bride, why then she would coincide with his views, and resign her own.
”All right!” said he. ”That will take a jolly time, I know; so I'll go to my governor first for the bonnet and wreath.”
Mrs. Dodd drew in at this last slang word; she had heard young gentlemen apply it to their fathers. Edward, she felt sure, would not so sully that sacred relation; still the word was obnoxious for its past offences; and she froze at it: ”I have not the honour to know who the personage is you so describe,” said she formally. Edward replied very carelessly that it was an upholsterer at the north end of the town.
”Ah, a tradesman you patronise.”
”Humph! Well, yes, that is the word, mamma, haw! haw! I have been making the bloke a lot of oak candlesticks, and human heads with sparkling eyes, for walking-sticks, &c. And now I'll go and draw my--protege's--blunt.” The lady's hands were uplifted towards pitying Heaven with one impulse. The young workman grinned: ”Soyons de notre siecle,” said he, and departed whistling in the tenor clef. He had the mellowest whistle.
After a few minutes well spent in deploring the fall of her Oxonian, and gently denouncing his motto, and his century, its ways, and above all its words, Mrs. Dodd took Julia to her bedroom, and unlocked drawers and doors in her wardrobe; and straightway Sarah, who was hurriedly flogging the chairs with a duster, relaxed, and began to work on a cheval-gla.s.s as slowly as if she was drawing Nelson's lions at a thousand pounds the tail. Mrs. Dodd opened a drawer and took out three pieces of worked Indian muslin, a little discoloured by h.o.a.rding: ”There, that must be bleached and make you some wrappers for the honeymoon, if the weather is at all fine; and petticoats to match;” next an envelope consisting of two foolscap sheets tacked: this, carefully undone upon the bed revealed a Brussels lace flounce and a veil: ”It was my own,” said Mrs. Dodd softly. ”I saved it for you; see here is your name written on it seventeen years ago. I thought 'this dear little toddler will have wings some day, and then she will leave me.' But now I am almost afraid to let you wear it; it might bring you misfortune: suppose after years of wedded love you should be bereaved of----” Mrs. Dodd choked, and Julia's arms were round her neck in a moment.
”I'll risk it,” cried she impetuously. ”If it but makes me as beloved as you are, I'll wear it, come weal come woe! And then I shall feel it over me at the altar like my guardian angel's wings, my own sweet, darling mamma. Oh what an idiot, what a wretch I am, to leave you at all.”
This unfortunate, unexpected burst, interrupted business sadly. Mrs.
Dodd sank down directly on the bed and wept; Julia cried over her, and Sarah plumped herself down in a chair and blubbered. But wedding flowers are generally well watered in the private apartments.
Patient Mrs. Dodd soon recovered herself: ”This is childish of me. When I think that there are mothers who see their children go from the house corpses, not brides, I ought to be ashamed of myself. Come! a l'oeuvre.
Ah, here is something.” And she produced a white China c.r.a.pe shawl. ”Oh, how sweet,” said Julia; ”why have you never worn it?”
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