“Well?”

“You rang, sir.”

“No, confound you! I did not ring.”

“Beg pardon, sir, I’m sure, sir. Electric bell’s a little out of order, sir. Tell-tales show wrong numbers, sir.”

“I engaged a suite of private rooms in this hotel, and there’s not a bit of privacy.”

“Very sorry, sir, indeed.”

“And look here, waiter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you address me it is customary to say Sir Mark.”

“Of course, Sir Mark; my mistake, Sir Mark. I’ll mind in future.”

“Has the carriage arrived?”

“Not yet, Sir Mark.”

“Thank you; that will do. No; a moment. The wedding breakfast. Everything is quite ready, I hope?”

“The head waiter has it in ’and, Sir Mark, and the table looks lovely.”

“Thanks. Ahem! a trifle now. I shall remember you when I leave. I spoke a little testily just this minute. A little out of order, waiter. Touch of my old fever, caught in the East.”

The waiter smiled and bowed as he pocketed a new five-shilling piece, and looked with fresh interest at the fine looking, florid, elderly man who kept pacing the room with a newspaper in his hand as he talked.

“Anything more I can do, Sir Mark, before I leave the room?”

“Hang it all, no, sir,” cried the old officer, flashing out once more irritably. “This is not a public dinner, and I have given you a vail.”

“Of course, Sir Mark; and I didn’t mean—”

“Then why did you use that confounded old stereotyped waiter’s expression? I wonder you did not hand me a toothpick.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir Mark, I’m sure.”

“Go and read ‘Peter Simple,’ and take Chuck’s, the boatswain’s, words to heart.”

“Certainly, Sir Mark,” and the waiter hurried to the door, leaving Admiral Sir Mark Jerrold muttering, and in time to admit a charmingly dressed, fair-haired bridesmaid in palest blue, and wearing a handsome diamond locket at her throat, and a few bright pearls on her cheeks, living pearls, just escaped from her pretty, red-rimmed eyes.

“‘Trencher scraping—shilling seeking—napkin carrying.’ Ah, Edie, my darling—all ready?”

“Yes, uncle, dear; but, oh, you do look cross!”

She clung to his arm and put up her lips to kiss the old man, whose face softened at her touch.

“No, no, my dear, not cross; only worried and irritable. Hang it, Edie, my pet, it’s a horrible wrench to lose her. No hope of that scoundrel Stratton breaking his neck, or repenting, or anything, is there?”

“Oh, uncle dear, don’t. Myra is so happy. She does love him so.”

“And her poor old father’s nobody now.”

“You don’t think so, uncle,” said the girl, smiling through her tears, as she rearranged the old officer’s tie, and gave a dainty touch to the stephanotis in the buttonhole of his blue frock coat. “And you know you want to see her happily married to the man she loves, and who loves her with all his heart.”

“Heigho! I suppose so.”

“And I’ve come down to ask if you’d like to see her. They’re just putting the last finishing touches.”

“So we may,” cried Sir Mark eagerly. “Does she look nice?”

“Lovely, uncle; all but—”

The girl ceased speaking, and looked conscious.

“Eh? All but what?”

“You will see, uncle, directly. I will not say any more about it. She would have her own way.”

“Here, I’ll come at once.”

“No, no, uncle dear; I’ll go and fetch her down.”

“And make a parade of her all through this confounded caravanserai of an hotel!” cried the old man testily. “I can’t think why she persisted in having it away from home.”

“Yes, you can, uncle dear,” said the girl soothingly. “It was very, very natural. But do, do be gentle with her. She is so ready to burst into tears, and I want her to go off as happy as the day.”

“Of course, Edie, my dear; of course. I’ll bottle it all up, and then you and your old fool of an uncle can have a good cry together all to ourselves, eh? But I say, little one, no hitches this time in the anchorage.”

“There very nearly was one, uncle.”

“What!” roared the old man, flushing.

“But I set it right with a telegram.”

“What—what was it? Stratton going to shuffle?”

“Oh, uncle, absurd! The bouquet for the bride had not come.”

“Pooh! A woman can be married without a bouquet.”

“No, no, uncle! But I sent off a message, and Mr Guest brought it himself.”

“Then he has been again.”

“Uncle! Why, he’s Malcolm Stratton’s best man.”

“He’s the worst man I know. I loathe him.”

“You don’t, uncle.”

“Yes, I do, and I’m not blind. Do you suppose I want to be left to a desolate old age. Isn’t it bad enough to lose Myra without—”

“Oh, uncle!” cried the girl, whose cheeks were crimson, “there isn’t a moment to lose;” and she darted to the door, leaving the admiral chuckling.

“A wicked little pirate! How soon she showed the red flag aloft. Ah, well, it’s nature—nature, and one mustn’t be selfish. Not much chance. I don’t know what we’re born for, unless it’s to be slaves to other people.”

He turned over his newspaper, and began running down the list of marriages.

“Here they are,” he muttered, “all going the same way,” and he stood musing sadly upon the question of the young women’s quitting the old hives, till the door was opened again and Edie Perrin ushered in her cousin, tall, graceful, and with that indescribable look of love and happiness seen in a bride’s eyes on her wedding morn.

“Here she is, uncle,” cried Edie, who then uttered a sob, and rushed away with a rustling noise to hide the tears she could not restrain.

“My darling!” cried the old man huskily as he drew his child to his breast; “and am I to feel that it is quite right, and that you are happy?”

“Oh, so happy, father; so content at last—at last,” she whispered as she clung to him lovingly. “Only there is one thing.”

“Eh? What—what?” cried the admiral excitedly.

“Leaving home and you.”

The old man drew a deep breath full of relief.

“Oh, pooh, pooh, nonsense, my pet,” he cried, looking at her beautiful pensive face proudly; “don’t mind that; I’m glad of it.”

“Glad, father?”

“No, no, not to lose you, my darling, but for you to go away with the man you love and who loves you. I hate him for taking you, but he is a splendid fellow, Myra. What a sailor he would have made!”

“Yes, father.”

“If they had not spoiled him by getting all that natural history stuff in his head. But I say, my darling,” he continued as he held his child at arm’s length, admiring her, but pushing up his hand.

“Yes, dear?”

“Isn’t this a little too—too punctilious? Very lovely, dear; you look all that a man could wish for, but it’s a wedding, my pet, and you—you do not quite look like a bride.”

“What do the looks matter?” she said with a dreamy look in her large eyes.

“Well, I don’t know. Woman ought to please her husband, and isn’t it a mistake to dress—well, to parade that nonsense about your being a widow.”

“Nonsense, dear?” said Myra, smiling sadly. “It was no nonsense. Whatever that man may have been I swore at the altar to be his faithful wife.”

“Till death did you part, eh? Yes, yes, yes,” said the admiral testily, “but he’s dead and gone and forgotten; there is no need to dig him up again.”

“Papa!”

“Well, I mean by going to what will be a real wedding in half mourning.”

“Malcolm agreed that I was right, dear.”

“Oh, then I’m wrong. Only, if I had known, I should have put my foot down—hard. Why, even Edie was hinting at it just now.”

“Let the past rest, dear,” said Myra gently.

“After this morning—yes, my darling. But I always feel as if I ought to apologise to you, Myra.”

“No, no, dear.”

“But I say yes. The clever, plausible scoundrel dazzled me, and I thought your opposition only maidenly shrinking. Yes, dazzled me, with his wit and cheery manners, knowledge of the world, and such a game, too, as he played at piquet. It was ashore, you see, and he was too much for me. If I’d had him at sea it would have been different. I was to blame all through—but you forgive me all the misery I caused you?”

“My dear father!”

“Ah, there I am crushing your dress again. Stratton’s a lucky dog, and we’ll think it was all for the best.”

“Of course, dear.”

“Showed what a good true-hearted fellow he was—sort of probationer, eh?”

Myra turned her head. She could not speak—only clung to the parent she was so soon to leave.

“Then good-bye to James Barron, alias Dale, and all his works, Myra. Oh, dear me! In a very short time it will be Mrs Malcolm Stratton, and I shall be all alone.”

“No, you will not, uncle,” said Edie, who had entered unobserved after letting off a fusillade of sobs outside the door, and her pretty grey eyes a little redder, “and you are not to talk like that to Myra; she wants comforting. Uncle will not be alone, dear, for I shall do all I can to make him happy.”

“Bah! A jade, a cheat, my dear. Don’t believe her,” cried the admiral merrily; “she has a strange Guest in her eye—Hotspur—Percy. Look at her.”

“Don’t, Myra dear. Kiss uncle and come back to your room,” and after a loving embrace between father and daughter the bridesmaid carried off the bride to the room where the travelling trunks lay ready packed, the bridal veil on a chair; and after the last touches had been given to the bride’s toilet, the cousins were left alone.

“Now, Myra darling, any more commands for me about uncle? We may not have another chance.”

“No, dear,” said the bride thoughtfully. “I could say nothing you will not think of for yourself. Don’t let him miss me, dear.”

“You know I will not. Bless you, pet; you happy darling, you’ve won the best husband in the world. But how funny it seems to have to go through all this again.”

“Hush, dear. Don’t—pray don’t talk about it.”

“I can’t help it, Myra; my tongue will talk this morning. Oh, I am so glad that it will be all right this time.”

Myra’s brow contracted a little, but her cousin rattled on.

“It has always seemed to me such stuff to talk of you as a widow. Oh, Myra, don’t look like that. What a stupid, thoughtless thing I am.”

She flung her arms about her cousin, and was again bursting into tears when there was a tap at the door, and she shrank away.

“Come in.”

One of the lady’s maids appeared.

“Sir Mark says, ma’am, that the carriages are waiting, and Miss Jerrold will not come up.”

Myra took her bouquet and turned calmly to her cousin as the maid burst out with:

“God bless you, Miss Myra—I mean madame. May you be very happy.”

The second maid was at hand to second the wish, and the pair performed a duet in sobs as the cousins swept down the broad staircase to the admiral’s room.

“Time, my dear, time,” cried Sir Mark jovially. “Come, Edie, aunt will be furious if you keep her any longer.”

Edie took his arm, but dropped it again to run and kiss her cousin once again. Then tripping to the old man’s side he led her down the broad staircase and across the hall, now pretty well thronged with visitors, and the servants in the background to see the departure.

A carriage was in waiting, with a tall, stern looking, grey lady inside.

“Late, Mark,” she said sharply. “Come Edie, my child, and let’s get it over.”

“You’re all alike,” said the admiral, as the bridesmaid took her place, the carriage started, and with head erect the old sailor strode back, seeing nobody, and went up to his room, to return soon after, amid a buzz of whispering, proudly leading down the bride.

“And only one bridesmaid,” whispered a lady visitor at the hotel.

“Young widow—very private affair—by the lady’s wish,” was whispered back loudly enough for Myra and her father to hear as they passed down the steps.

“Let them chatter,” said the old man to himself. “They haven’t seen such a bride for years.”

Quite a little crowd followed to the hotel door, there was a general waving of handkerchiefs, and one lady threw a bouquet of white roses as the carriage door was shut with a bang, the servant sprang up, and the next moment the admiral’s handsome pair of bays dashed off toward the great West End church.