"Orange still above! Oh, my dear, don't trouble yourself to come down! I
can pass the time tolerably well, watching you."
It was Mrs. Gordon, and she nodded and laughed in a triumphant way that
very quickly brought Katherine to her side. "My dear, I kiss you. You
are the top beauty of my whole acquaintance." Then, in a whisper,
"Richard sends his devotion. And put your hand in my muff: there is a
letter. And pray give me joy: I have just secured an invitation. I
asked the councillor and madam point blank for it. Faith, I think I am a
little of a favourite with them! Every one is talking of the bridegroom,
and the bridegroom is talking to every one. Surely, my dear, he imagines
himself to be the only man that will ever again commit matrimony.
Oranje boven, everywhere!" Then, with a little exultant laugh, "Above
the Tartan, at any rate. How is the young Bruce? My dear, if you don't
make him suffer, I shall never forgive you. Alternate doses of hope and
despair, that would be my prescription."
Katherine shook her head.
"Take notice, in particular, that I don't understand nods and shakes and
sighs and signs. What is your opinion, frankly?"
"On my wedding day, as I left Richard, this he said to me: 'My honour,
Katherine, is now in your keeping.' By the lifting of one eyelash, I
will not stain it."
"My dear, you are perfectly charming. You always convince me that I am a
better woman than I imagine myself. I shall go straight to Dick, and
tell him how exactly proper you are. Really, you have more perfections
than any one woman has a right to."
"To-morrow, if I have a letter ready, you will take it?"
"I will run the risk, child. But really, if you could see the way mine
host of the 'King's Arms' looks at me, you would be sensible of my
courage. I am persuaded he thinks I carry you under my new wadded cloak.
Now, adieu. Return to your evergreens and ribbons.
"'For your own true love,
Tie the splendid orange,
Orange still above!'"
And so, lightly humming Katharine's favourite song, she left the busy
house.
Before daylight the next morning, Batavius had every one at his post.
The ceremony was to be performed in the Middle Kirk, and he took care
that Joanna kept neither Dominie de Ronde nor himself waiting. He was
exceedingly gratified to find the building crowded when the wedding
party arrived. Joanna's dress had cost a guinea a yard, his own
broadcloth and satin were of the finest quality, and he felt that the
good citizens who respected him ought to have an opportunity to see how
deserving he was of their esteem. Joanna, also, was a beautiful bride;
and the company was entirely composed of men of honour and substance,
and women of irreproachable characters, dressed with that solid
magnificence gratifying to a man who, like Batavius, dearly loved
respectability.