Maria was married on Saturday. In all important preparations of mind she was complete, being prepared for matrimony by a hatred of home, by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man she was to marry. The bride was elegantly dressed and the two bridesmaids were duly inferior. Her mother stood with salts, expecting to be agitated, and her aunt tried to cry. Marriage is indeed a maneuvering business.
So, Mr. Mandrake, what is it you plan to do with me this evening?” I asked haughtily. “I presume,” he said, playing along, “that I will start with feeding you proper and then proceed with more…pestiferous acts.”I smiled through the confusion. I’d have to look up that word later.