He bore himself at his wedding in a manner which Lady Oversley declared to be beyond praise. She was a good deal affected, and told her lord later that she could have wept to see dear Adam concealing what must be his true feelings, only his pallor showing how much the effort cost him.

In fact, there was no effort. Adam, back in his unquiet dream, only obeyed the dictates of his breeding. Good manners demanded a certain line of conduct, and since it was second nature to him to respond to that demand it was with no effort but mechanically that he talked and smiled at the wedding-breakfast There were only a dozen persons present, but nothing could have exceeded the display of plate, or the splendour of the refreshments. The regalia on the sideboard of jellies, creams, and pies made Lydia open her eyes; and she afterwards insisted that she had counted eight dishes a side on the table.

Lydia had come to London in subdued spirits, chastened by a homily from Charlotte. When she first saw Jenny, all white satin and lace and diamonds, she thought she looked dreadfully commonplace. White satin did not become Jenny; and, to make matters worse, she was as flushed as Adam was pale. She was quite composed, however, and spoke her responses clearly; but after the ceremony Lydia thought that perhaps she was not as composed as she seemed, for when she believed no one to be looking at her she pressed her hands to her cheeks, as though to force back her high colour.

Lydia felt very low during the unromantic ceremony; but in Russell Square her melancholy vanished. Her surroundings were entirely new to her, and although she had heard a great deal about Mr Chawleigh’s taste she had never imagined quite so much opulence. She looked about her with bright-eyed appreciation, drinking it all in, and wishing that she could exchange just one glance with Adam. That was impossible, but Lord Brough did very well as a substitute. Their eyes met fleetingly, and she saw by the twinkle in his that he was enjoying it as much as she was; and she began to feel much more cheerful. It was still tragic that Adam was married to Jenny instead of Julia, but it was impossible to be sad in the middle of such an ill-assorted party. It was even difficult not to laugh when Mrs Quarley-Bix, robed in Berlin silk, and highly rouged, greeted Lady Lynton with the effusive affection of intimacy, and lost no time in placing herself on equality with her by the employment of such phrases as: “You and I, dear Lady Lynton ...” and: “Persons of quality, as we know, dear Lady Lynton....”

Mr Chawleigh, observing the merry look in Lydia’s eye, took an instant fancy to her, and bore down on her. She was not as beautiful as her sister, but what he called a big, handsome girl, with no nonsense about her. By way of breaking the ice he told her that he was downright ashamed of himself for having provided no smart beaux for her entertainment. “There’s only my Lord Brough to be split between you and Lizzie Tiverton, and that’s what I call a shabby way of doing things. Not but what there won’t be much splitting done, if his lordship’s got as much sense as I think he has!”

Lydia, who partook far more of her father’s robust character than her brother and sister, was not at all offended by this speech. No one like Mr Chawleigh had previously come in her way, but by the time the assembled guests sat down to the Gargantuan meal provided for them he and she were in a fair way to becoming fast friends; and several times her mother was pained to hear her spontaneous, schoolgirl’s laugh break from her. Lady Lynton, conducting herself throughout with impeccable, if chilly, civility, later took Lydia to task for laughing at Mr Chawleigh, and read her a lecture on the want of breeding she had shown in wounding his sensibilities.

But Mr Chawleigh’s sensibilities were not even grazed. His shrewd eyes twinkled at Lydia, and he presently told Lady Lynton that he didn’t know when he had taken more of a liking to a girl. He added, in a confidential undertone, that he had placed Lord Brough beside her at the table. “Though she tells me she’s not out yet, and his lordship ought to be next to Miss Tiverton. But what I say, my lady, is: Hang Lizzie Tiverton! His lordship will be better pleased to talk to Miss Lydia!”

Lady Lynton, though she accepted the compliment politely, was not gratified. On the other hand, Adam, who had noticed, with relief, that Lydia seemed to be on the best of terms with her host, smiled gratefully at her when he met her eyes across the table.

In his lazy, unconcerned way Brough too was proving himself to be a tower of strength. Mr Chawleigh, quick to detect and to resent condescension, thought him a very nice young fellow: of much the same cut as Lord Oversley, who was good-naturedly engaging Mrs Quarley-Bix’s attention at one end of the table, while his lady, at the other end, maintained a flow of inconsequent conversation, laughed at all her host’s jokes, and delighted him by partaking of all the dishes offered her and declaring that she had never tasted anything so good.

When Jenny went upstairs to change her dress Lydia accompanied her, rescuing her from Mrs Quarley-Bix, whose proffered ministrations were clearly unacceptable to her. Waiting only to be sure that Miss Tiverton, a very shy girl, did not mean to put herself forward, she got up, saying: “May I come with you? Pray let me!”

“That’s right!” approved Mr Chawleigh. “You go with Miss Lydia, love, and do you sit down again, Mrs Q.-B! Jenny don’t want two of you to help her dress, thanking you all the same!”

Lydia trod beside her new sister up the heavily carpeted stairs, trying to think of something friendly to say. But it was Jenny who first spoke, saying with a stammer: “Thank you! I’m much obliged to you! I hope you don’t dislike it?”

“No, no, of course not!” Lydia replied, flushing. “If you don’t!”

“Oh, no! so kind!” Jenny sighed. “If you knew what Mrs Quarley-Bix has been like all day — !”

Lydia giggled. “Your papa says she has been capering like a fly in a tar-box! Goodness, is this your bedchamber? Isn’t it huge?” She stood looking about her in astonishment, presently remarking that there was much to be said for being an only daughter. “My bedchamber isn’t nearly as big, and nor is Charlotte’s.” She added, turning her serious gaze upon Jenny: “I expect you’ll think Fontley pretty shabby.”

“Oh, no, I promise you I shan’t! Pray don’t think — Oh, Martha, Miss Lydia Deveril has been so kind as to come and help me! Martha used to be my nurse, Miss Deveril!”

“You should call me Lydia: I wish you will,” Lydia said, sitting down on the end of an elegant day-bed. She smiled at the angular female who was dropping her a stiff curtsy, and said: “I won’t get in the way: I will only watch!”

The abigail’s presence did not help to lessen the constraint that tied each young lady’s tongue. Conversation was confined to the merest commonplaces, Jenny’s contributions to it being largely monosyllabic. It was not until she stood fully attired, and Martha had left the room, that she seemed to brace herself, and abruptly addressed Lydia. “You love him, don’t you?” she said. “You needn’t tell me: I know you do, and that this isn’t what you — or he — wished. I only want to tell you that he’ll be comfortable: I’ll see to that!” The intensity of her expression was broken by a wintry little smile. “You don’t think that signifies, but it does. Men like to be comfortable. Well, he will be! That’s all!”

She ended this speech with a determined nod, and without waiting for a reply went out of the room with a brisk step, leaving Lydia to follow her downstairs to where the assembled company awaited her in the hall.

The leave-takings were not prolonged. Mr Chawleigh, enfolding his daughter in a bear’s hug, bade Adam, between jocularity and ferocity, to take good care of his girl; Lady Lynton said mournfully that she hoped Adam would be happy; Charlotte and Lady Oversley shed tears; and Lydia, convulsively embracing Adam, whispered: “I don’t hate her! I don’t!” and the gentlemen of the party offered bluff congratulations mingled with recommendations not to keep the horses standing.

The posting-chariot, which was one of Mr Chawleigh’s wedding-gifts, stood at the door, a team of match-bays harnessed to it, and the Lynton arms emblazoned on the door panels and the rich hammercloth; behind it a fourgon was drawn up, for the accommodation of my lord’s valet, my lady’s abigail, and all their baggage; and the final touch of grandeur was supplied by a couple of liveried outriders. Adam handed his bride into the chariot, paused only for a word with Brough, and followed her; the steps were put up, the door shut; and as goodbyes were called and handkerchiefs fluttered the carriage moved forward. Since postilions had been chosen for the journey the box seat, under that resplendent hammercloth, was unoccupied. So too was the ramble, Adam having successfully resisted Mr Chawleigh’s attempts to foist two footmen on to him.

The equipage swept round the angle of the square; and as the group on the flagway was lost to sight Adam turned away from the window, and smiled at Jenny, saying: “Well, your father may say what he chooses, but I think we had a very handsome wedding, don’t you? Are you very tired after it all?”

“Well, I am fagged,” she acknowledged, “but not as much as you are, I daresay.”

“Nonsense!”

“You’re worn to a bone: I know that. You’ve had far more to do than I have — besides other things. I only hope you may not be sea-sick in this carriage!”

He laughed. “I hope not indeed! Do you think you will?”

“Well, I think I might. It sways about so much. I daresay I shall grow used to it, but if I don’t you mustn’t tell Papa, if you please! He would be so disappointed, for he had it specifically built,”