if the fifteenth of November will suit us for the wedding."



On the fifteenth of November, accordingly, Anthony and Barbara were made
man and wife by the bride's father with the assistance of the clergyman
of the next parish. Owing to the recent death of the bridegroom's
brother and the condition of Mr. Arnott's health the wedding was
extremely quiet. Still, in its own way it was as charming as it was
happy. All her five sisters acted as Barbara's bridesmaids, and many
gathered in that church said they were the most beautiful bevy of
maidens that ever had been seen. But if so, Barbara outshone them all,
perhaps because of her jewels and fine clothes and the radiance on her
lovely face.

Anthony, who seemed to be quite well again, also looked extremely
handsome, while Aunt Thompson, who by now had put off her mourning,
shone in that dim church as the sun shines through a morning mist.

In short, all went as merrily as it should, save that the bride's mother
seemed depressed and wept a little.

This, said her sister to someone in a loud voice, was in her opinion
nothing short of wicked. What business, she asked, has a woman with
six portionless daughters to cry because one of them is making a good
marriage; "though it is true," she added, dropping her voice to a
confidential whisper, "that had Barbara chosen she might have made a
better one. Yes, I don't mind telling you that she might have been a
peeress, instead of the wife of a mere country squire."