'I am sure a wedding is a terrible wear of spirits!' said Emily--
'such excitement.'

'Well--when I give a spectacle to the family next year, I mean to
tire you to some purpose.'

'Eh?' said Mr. Mohun, looking up, 'is Rotherwood's wedding to be the
next?'

'You ought to understand, uncle,' said Lord Rotherwood, making two
stops towards him, and speaking a little more clearly, 'I thought you
longed to get rid of your nephew and his concerns.'

'You idle boy!' returned Mr. Mohun, 'you do not mean to have the
impertinence to come of age next year.'

'As much as having been born on the 30th of July, 1825, can make me.'

'But what good will your coming of age do us?' said Lilias, 'you will
be in London or Brighton, or some such stupid place.'

'Do not be senseless, Lily,' returned her cousin. 'Devereux Castle
is to be in splendour--Hetherington in amazement--the county's hair
shall stand on end--illuminations, bonfires, feasts, balls, colours
flying, bands playing, tenants dining, fireworks--'

'Hurrah! jolly! jolly!' shouted Reginald, dancing on the ottoman,
'and mind there are lots of squibs.'