They were very much like Lady Laura, had all her
easy good-nature and liveliness, and were more or less afraid of the
stately Geraldine.
"Do you know, we are quite glad she is going to be married at last," Lady
Emily said in a confidential tone to Clarissa; "for she has kept up a kind
of frigid atmosphere at home that I really believe has helped to frighten
away all our admirers. Men of the present day don't like that sort of
thing. It went out of fashion in England with King Charles I., I think, and
in France with Louis XIV. You know how badly the royal household behaved
coming home from his funeral, laughing and talking and all that: I
believe it arose from their relief at thinking that the king of forms
and ceremonies was dead. We always have our nicest little
parties--kettle-drums, and suppers after the opera, and that sort of
thing--when Geraldine is away; for we can do anything with papa."
The great day came, and the heavens were propitious. A fine clear September
day, with a cool wind and a warm sun; a day upon which the diaphanous
costumes of the bridesmaids might be a shade too airy; but not a stern
or cruel day, to tinge their young noses with a frosty hue, or blow the
crinkles out of their luxuriant hair.
The bridesmaids were the Ladies Emily and Louisa Challoner, the two Miss
Fermors, Miss Granger, and Clarissa--six in all; a moderation which Lady
Laura was inclined to boast of as a kind of Spartan simplicity.
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