CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

MRS. DIMSDEN'S summer campaign at Newport and Saratoga had been successful, almost beyond her highest hopes. Laura was going to be married to a man of wealth and position fully equal to her uncle Merton's—a man who had been an object with speculating young ladies and their mammas for several years. Attracted by Miss Dimsden's magnificent beauty, he had followed the ladies from Cape May to Newport, from Newport to the White Mountains, and from thence to Saratoga, where he finally surrendered at discretion.

It was a singular circumstance that no sooner was it known that Mr. Witherington was engaged to the young and beautiful Miss Dimsden, than all these same speculating young ladies and their speculating mammas were at once filled with pity and sympathy for the poor girl, thus remorselessly sacrificed by her heartless aunt, and with contempt for the weak-minded suitor, caught by a girl without principle and without fortune.

Olive had made anxious inquiries of Mrs. Merton concerning her future brother-in-law.

"It is an excellent match, my dear, in all the generally received senses of that much abused word. Mr. Witherington is a man of good manners, excellent principles, and a large fortune. He has a fine house in town, and a fine house in the country, and all that; and moreover, he is desperately in love with Laura."

"Then I do not see, aunt, but that Laura's chances for happiness are excellent."

"If you will excuse my saying so, Olive, I think her chances are better than his." Olive looked at her inquiringly. "You know I am not romantic in the least," continued Mrs. Merton, "but then I have rather peculiar notions. I do not think a woman has any right to marry a man unless she honestly prefers him to all the rest of the world."

"And you think, aunt, that Laura does not—"

"I think she is almost indifferent, my dear. Begging your pardon for speaking so freely of your sister, I do not think she has depth of character enough to appreciate a man like Mr. Witherington. He is an earnest, grave person—what I call a weighty man, and I fear he will be disappointed in his wife. Of course, he can see no fault in her now."

"But it seems rather strange," said Olive, after a little silence, "that Laura should not like such a man."

"She does like him, my child, but she does not love him, and no one should know better than you that there is all the difference in the world between loving and liking."

"I suppose aunt Dimsden is delighted."

"Oh! Of course; you know what her ideas of marriage are. But don't attach too much importance to what I say, my love," added Mrs. Merton kindly. "Perhaps when you see them together, you may think I am entirely mistaken."

"And how is Laura?" asked Olive.

"She is splendid—really magnificent! I never knew that she was half so beautiful, and she has a subdued, gentle manner, which is very becoming to her. And now, while I think of it, Mrs. Dimsden is bent upon having a grand display—a reception, and all that, and of course you and Charlotte must be dressed to correspond. Now what I want to stipulate is that you shall permit us to provide your dress and ornaments. I know you like to be independent, my dear, but you must really allow us this pleasure. You will have ways enough to dispose of your earnings by and by."

Olive accepted the kindness, and felt very grateful for it. She knew her aunt wanted her to be dressed like Charlotte upon all occasions, an expenditure which, now that she was dependent upon her own resources, and had such a strong motive for saving, she felt that she could not well afford, and she appreciated the delicacy which thus granted a favor on pretense of asking one.

They arrived at home early in the evening, and Olive was hardly dressed before the Black Prince announced Mr. Witherington and Miss Dimsden.

Laura was certainly more dazzling than ever, and Olive could not wonder at her lover for looking at her constantly, even while talking to other people. She was very much pleased with Mr. Witherington. He did not talk much, and was evidently full of serious thought, but what said was frank, manly, and to the purpose. She thought he winced a good deal under Mrs. Dimsden's genteel vulgarisms, and she admired the adroit way in which Laura often contrived to turn the conversation, or to divert her lover's attention to herself.

The evening passed before she could satisfy herself as to whether her aunt was right in her ideas about the depth of Laura's attachment.

The next day she spent the whole morning in her sister's apartment, admiring and commenting upon the bridal finery which Laura displayed for her inspection. Every thing was of the best and handsomest, and Olive gave her aunt credit for greater liberality than she had thought belonged to her. Laura told her how many presents she had had.

"These two boxes of hankerchiefs Charlotte gave me. See what beauties they are, all marked with my name so ingeniously. Aunt Merton gave me this set of cameos. Don't they look just like her, so quietly elegant? Besides, she and uncle together gave me the tea and coffee-set that you will see by and by. They are much handsomer than Jane Lewis's were. Mrs. Schuyler gave me the fruit and cake-knives, and Louisa a beautiful little pitcher. The Jenners sent me the egg-cups lined with gold, and Mrs. John Jenner a beautiful basket, etc., etc. Now confess, Olive, is it not worth while to be married, to have such beautiful things given to one?"

"I am afraid I never took that into the calculation," said Olive, good-naturedly.

"No, I dare say not, but you and I are very different, you know. Now only think, if you had only been guided by aunt Dimsden, you might have married a rich man, too, instead of a poor minister. Not," she added hastily, "that Mr. Witherington's money is the only good thing about him."

"I should think his money was the least recommendation," said Olive. "He appears to me to be a very earnest, excellent man. I only hope you love him as he deserves."

Laura laughed and then sighed. "Why, to tell you the simple truth, Olive, I don't think it is in me to 'fall in love,' as people call it, with any body. I esteem Mr. Witherington highly, and I have a very great respect for him. I think that is a great deal more sure foundation than such a violent passion, don't you?"

Olive shook her head. "'Love,' honor, and obey, Laura!"

"Oh! Well, of course, yes. But there is another thing, Olive—do you think that obey is to be rendered literally, or is it just put in to fill out the line?"

"I think of it in this way, Laura. A man ought to be head of his own house, and when there is a decided difference of opinion, the wife ought to give up. I must say I do not believe in a woman's humoring a man in all his whims and caprices, as Abby does with William. It is not good for her, and certainly it is very bad for him."

"But, now for instance, to take something that you know all about, there was Janet Forster. She married Mr. Heyling, you know, when she was so very poor, and he not only took care of her, but of all her relatives. Then she was seized with a poetical mania, and wanted to publish her poems. He was a very proud man, and it disturbed him dreadfully to think his wife should write for money. He could not bear to have her publish the volume, but she persisted. It came out in spite of him, and she got the pay for it, whatever it was. What do you think of that?"

"I never knew exactly the truth of the matter before," said Olive, "though I knew that poor Mr. Heyling was very unhappy. I must say, I think she did very wrong. Supposing that it was a foolish pride, which I will not deny, she was under the greatest obligations to him, not only for herself, but for her family. The poems were not so very splendid that the world would have suffered any great loss from their suppression."

"I don't think he objected so much to her publishing as to her writing for money."

"Then she ought not to have written for money. What did a few hundred dollars, more or less, matter, compared to her husband's annoyance?"

"I always thought she was wrong," remarked Laura. "If I were going to differ from my husband, at least I would do it in a delicate way, and not make it a subject of town gossip. But I don't believe Mr. Witherington will try to govern me much."

"I rather hope he will," said Olive, smiling. "He does not seem at all like a man who would be tyrannical or capricious, and a little reasonable government will do you no harm."

Laura laughed heartily at the idea. "Really, Olive, you are very good. Don't look grave, my dear, I mean to be quite a pattern wife, I assure you, and shall preside over my husband's establishment with all the dignity and grace imaginable. I mean to make him very happy, and never contradict him unless we differ in opinion. But come down-stairs—I want to show you my presents."

The presents were magnificent. Laura had their cost all by heart, and went over it all with a readiness which would have done credit to a jeweller's' clerk.

"What a quantity of silver you have!" remarked Olive. "If you should ever become reduced in circumstances, you might set up a shop, and stock it with your bridal presents. Let me see—here are one, two, three, six butter-knives, all marked with your name, and how many fruit-knives?"

"Two complete sets, besides three odd ones. That is the trouble—one gets so many things just alike. I have four or five cream-spoons, and three sugar-sifters, and so with other things."

"I shall be quite afraid to put my simple presents by the side of all these grand things, Laura. I have not felt as if I could spend much money, and my plain white Parian ware will look out of place beside all these grand things, I am afraid."

"No, indeed," replied Laura, with more earnestness than she usually manifested. "If you had given me nothing more than a sheet of paper, Olive, I should think more of it than of all these fine things that people give me to display their own liberality, and get themselves talked about."

"You don't seem to have a very high opinion of your friends," remarked Olive.

"Of course that does not apply to all of them," returned Laura. "Some of these were given by dear friends, and these I really value. The things uncle and aunt Merton have given me, for instance, and Mrs. Schuyler's presents, because she was a friend of mother's, you know, and the Jenners, because I always loved them. But there is Maria Lewis, she never liked me, though she wanted me to marry Sam. And after I refused him, she hated me, I know—yet she sends me this superb "odeur"-box, just that she might see it on the table, with her name attached to it."

"I should hardly want to accept presents upon such terms, I think," said Olive.

"Oh! The things are just as pretty and convenient, you know, as if they liked me ever so much. But tell me, Olive, and pray don't think I ask because I am dissatisfied, or any such thing—why can not you afford to spend as much money as you want? I am sure you have some good reason."

"My reason is Abby, Laura. I feel as if the time would come when she will need all that I can do for her. William is not getting on at all in business, and is not likely to. He is very extravagant besides."

"I am very sorry to hear it. I hoped they were doing pretty well. Perhaps I shall be able to help them."

"If you can do it by denying yourself, and curtailing your own expenses, my dear Laura, I shall be very glad. But pray do not ask Mr. Witherington to do any thing for them."

"What a queer girl you are! Why not?"

Olive thought if the "why not" did not present itself, there was no use in arguing the point any farther.

"I hope, at any rate, Laura, if your husband approves, you will go and see Abby, or at least write to her."

"I have done that already," said Laura. "I told aunt I would not be married at all unless she would let me ask Abby to the wedding. She made a great fuss at first, and threatened to appeal to Mr. Witherington, so I saved her the trouble by appealing to him myself. Then she was frightened, for he is so very precise and particular in his ideas, and she thought the match might be off."

"What did he say?" asked Olive, very much interested.

"He praised me very much in the first place, for telling him every thing. Then he asked very particularly about the affair, and aunt told him, only she made it a great deal worse than it was. You would have thought Abby had behaved more shamefully than any one ever did in the world. I could not help putting in a word now and then, and finally he said I might have my own way in the matter. Aunt was very angry, but she dared not show it to him, you know. So I wrote to her day before yesterday. I do wonder if she will come?"

"I am rather afraid not, Laura. Abby has more on her hands than you have any idea of. She wrote to me that she had changed girls lately, and she has not learned to keep house so but that it takes all her time. Moreover, I do not think William will spare her, and I am very certain he will not come himself."

Laura sighed.

"I am very sorry for her, I am sure. It seems a great pity—so pretty and well-educated as she is. She ought to be enjoying herself in society, instead of being burdened with a house and a baby at her age. Only think, she is only eighteen now! I do think girls lose a great deal by marrying so young, Olive, even if they marry well."

"I think so, too, Laura. But I must go home, or aunt will miss me at luncheon-time. I shall see you again to-morrow, and arrange about every thing."

Olive felt rather sadly as she walked homeward. She did not think Laura was doing right, and she feared that Mr. Witherington would be disappointed in her. He seemed an earnest, thoughtful man, who would need something more in a wife beside beauty and fine manners. And, fond as she was of her, she could not conceal from herself that Laura had no depth, either of character or principle. She clearly married Mr. Witherington, not because she loved him, but because he was an excellent match, and could give her at once that wealth and position which she had been educated to regard as the chief end of existence.

For a time, her husband's eyes might be blinded by her beauty and his own passion, but Olive felt as though he must find out the deficiencies in his wife after a while, and be made very unhappy by the discovery. There was nothing for it, however, but to hope that a man of so much depth of character might influence Laura, and lead her to higher things. At present, all the energies of herself and her aunt seemed concentrated on the desire that the wedding should eclipse every thing of the kind ever seen in M. before. Aunt Merton, though she disapproved of gay weddings, as a matter of taste, lent her efficient aid to gratify them, and devoted more time and attention to the affair than she had ever done to any party of her own.

Abby could not come. She wrote that Katy had left her, and the girl she had was not very efficient, baby was troublesome, she was not strong herself, and, on the whole, she thought it would be better not to make the attempt. She sent her love and good wishes, and a beautiful handkerchief; embroidered by her own hands, as a present for Laura. Olive was glad that Laura persisted in carrying this handkerchief on her wedding-day, instead of the more splendid Honiton-bordered one which Mrs. Dimsden had provided.

They talked over the letter together, and agreed that it was very sad, despite the evident effort to make it cheerful. Abby was clearly very home-sick, and very much depressed, though she said not a word of any new trouble, except her change of girls, and that baby was troublesome. She had made acquaintance with the rector of the nearest church and his wife, who were very kind to her, but she could not get to church very often. Mrs. Granger came to see her sometimes, and was very good to her. Such was the substance of her letter.

The eventful day arrived. Olive's dress was perfect, and aunt Rebecca, as she clasped the last bracelet—part of a beautiful set of ornaments presented by her brother-in-law, pronounced that she had never looked so well in her life. And, as Olive looked in the glass, she thought so, too, and wished that Walter were there to see her. Mrs. Merton did honor to the occasion by a superb new dress, and her most magnificent display of diamonds—rather a remarkable thing for her, as she did not usually trouble herself to dress much. Charlotte was attired exactly like Olive, and looked very queenly and amiable.

"Olive," said she, as they were waiting for the carriage to convey them to Mrs. Dimsden's, "how should you like all this fuss, if you were going to be married yourself?"

"I am afraid I should think it a very great bore," answered her cousin.

"To be obliged to fix one's attention on ribbons, and lace, and petticoats, at such a time, when all one's thoughts should be concentrated upon better things," continued Charlotte, "to be obliged to listen to flat compliments and foolish speeches at such a time, I think it would be dreadfully tiresome."

"People feel very differently about such things," observed Olive. "A wedding always seems to me among the most solemn of religious ceremonies, and a gay party seems about as appropriate on such an occasion, as it would at a christening or a confirmation. It is taking so much upon one's self. It makes such an entire change in all one's circumstances and duties—such a responsibility."

"I almost wonder you have the courage to attempt it, Olive. You have such high ideas upon the subject. Do you think you will ever be able to live up to your own notions of the duties of a wife?"

"Probably not, as I never yet lived up to my own standard of duty in any thing. But I shall do my best, and I hope I shall not be left to myself. Then Walter and I agree perfectly in all important matters, which will be a great help."

"I have no doubt you will get on nicely," said Charlotte. "You are the only pair of lovers I ever saw who seemed to me to be in the faintest degree rational, or in fact endurable. I used to think people in that condition must act like fools, as a matter of course."

"Carriage waiting, young ladies," announced the Black Prince, himself "en grande tenue," as expecting to bear a conspicuous part.

Wrappers and hoods were donned, under the direction of Mammy, who gave a last touch to the drapery, and a last charge to her young ladies not to get cold as they came out of church.

They found Laura ready dressed, and looking very splendidly in her white "moire antique" and beautiful veil. Pearls, gloves, bouquet, wreath, were all in the finest taste. Mrs. Dimsden, in a splendid satin dress and a wonderful cap, was walking round and round her, adding a touch here, and a pin there, now adjusting a fold of her veil, and then giving a pull to the skirt.

Mr. Witherington was grave, and apparently a little embarrassed. Olive thought he felt himself rather oppressed by the weight of his aunt-in-law. He certainly did not look as if he enjoyed the bustle very much, though he brightened up wonderfully when his beautiful bride appeared, and looked very happy.

Laura's feelings did not at all interfere with her self-possession. She very evidently thought more of her dress than of any thing else. She showed no sign of timidity when they found the church crowded with people, and the street outside filled with gazers, and was not half as much embarrassed as Mr. Witherington. His voice trembled very much in making the responses, but she was as cool as though going through an ordinary school recitation.

Every one said so beautiful a bride had never been seen in the church before. Mr. Merton gave her away, Olive held the glove, and every thing passed off well.

There were three quarters of an hour to spare before the company began to arrive, and Mr. Witherington seemed as if he would gladly have had his wife to himself for a few minutes, but he was made to understand that it was quite out of the question. Laura must have some changes made in her dress, and she must give her opinion with regard to the table and the refreshment-room. Mr. Witherington felt himself decidedly in the way, but comforted himself with the idea that it would soon be over, and then he could enjoy his dear Laura's society in peace. He had yet to learn that his dear Laura was in her element amidst such scenes, and found a quiet day at home the most stupid thing possible.

The presents were all ticketed, as Charlotte had said, and arranged on the table so as to show to the best advantage, Abby's handkerchief occupying a conspicuous place among the more splendid gifts. The circle was duly formed, and every thing arranged for the grand parade, before the first carriage, rattling to the door, announced the first installment of the dear two hundred friends to whom Mrs. Dimsden had sent cards.

Olive found the whole thing desperately stupid. It was very tiresome to stand two hours in a graceful attitude, and reply to the inane speeches addressed to her by the young gentlemen who came to pay their respects to Mr. Witherington. She felt vexed at Laura for her evident enjoyment of the affair—vexed at Mrs. Dimsden for her parade of the presents and dresses, and so forth, sorry for Mr. Witherington, who looked uncomfortable and out of place, and provoked at herself for feeling like crying all the time.

Mrs. Merton shone superior, doing the gracious to all the rather out of the way people, being in every place where she was most wanted, and making every one say, "What a splendid woman Mrs. Charles Merton is!" And many people added—"So different from Mrs. Dimsden!"

The supper was very splendid, the Black Prince in his glory—a glory of manners and dress, of gloves and white favors. He had a brother, second only to himself in splendor, who was always under Edward's orders upon such occasions.

Mrs. Dimsden was rather nervous at first, but Mrs. Merton whispered, "Don't be disturbed, my dear Alicia! Leave every thing to Edward and Mammy—I always do."

"My dear Alicia!" Mrs. Dimsden felt two inches taller, and was quite happy for the remainder of the evening. Every thing was of the best. The brilliant pyramids stood up straight. The ice-cream doves, and nymphs, and temples, kept their shape, and the oysters and salads were perfect.

Major Trimble expressed to divers and sundry people the original opinion that Mrs. Dimsden was quite a "Palladium" of a housekeeper, and that Mrs. Witherington was quite dazzling, but added confidentially his opinion that it was a pity she should be sacrificed to such a dull old sort of a man as Mr. Witherington seemed to be.

Well—it was all over at last. The guests departed, the bridesmaids returned home, and sat down by the fire to rest and talk the matter over.

"Was not Laura magnificent?" was the first exclamation, but "How uncomfortable poor Mr. Witherington looked!" the next.

"He seemed to feel himself so much out of place," said Olive, "but I do not think any the worse of him for it."

"Nor I," replied Mrs. Merton. "I think he looked thoughtful and earnest, as a man should on his wedding-day. I hope, Olive," she continued, as she unclasped her bracelets and pulled off her gloves, "that you have no desire to have a grand wedding. A wedding-party two or three weeks afterward is not so bad, but really, people ought to want to be by themselves at such times."

Olive raised her hands in horror.

"I think I see myself," she said, "paraded out for three mortal hours, to be looked at and criticised by every one that chose to look at me, and go home and talk about me afterward. But, after all, every thing passed off nicely—did it not? And how well aunt Dimsden looked—only aunt Rebecca eclipsed her."

"Did I?" said Mrs. Merton. "I am very sorry for that. I dressed more than usual, thinking Alicia would like it."

"And so she did," said Charlotte, "especially when you called her dear Alicia. I was afraid she would spoil it all by being fussy. How well the Black Prince appeared! I think, mother, it would be a grand thing for Edward and George to let themselves out, to do manners at the expensive people's parties. Just think what an advantage it would be to them!"

"Hush!" said Olive. "And don't be scandalizing your neighbors. Well, it has all gone off nicely, and aunt Dimsden has gained her point with Laura, as with all the rest, and given her a rich husband and a splendid wedding."

"I wonder who she will take in hand next," said Mrs. Merton. "After all, my dears, it is much better to pass over Mrs. Dimsden's weak points, and dwell upon her good ones. She has been very kind to Laura, and has acted for the best, according to her ideas. And now I must insist upon your going to bed at once. We shall have plenty of calls to-morrow, and I want you to look your best. You need not laugh, Olive. It is no reason that because you are engaged, you should not do yourself credit. Your lover will not think the less of you because other people admire you."