Jack caught up the vase and ran with it to Ruth, who burst out
with another: "Oh, what a beauty!" followed by "Who sent it?"
"A gentleman journeyman tailor, my darling," said Jack, with a
flash of his eye at Peter, his face wreathed in smiles.
And with the great day--a soft November day--summer had lingered
on a-purpose--came the guests: the head of the house of Breen and
his wife--not poor Corinne, of course, who poured out her heart in
a letter instead, which she entrusted to her mother to deliver;
and Holker Morris and Mrs. Morris, and the Fosters and the
Granthams and Wildermings and their wives and daughters and sons,
and one stray general, who stopped over on his way to the West,
and who said when he entered, looking so very grand and important,
that he didn't care whether he had been invited to the ceremony or
not, at which Miss Felicia was delighted, he being a major-general
on the retired list, and not a poor tailor who--no, we won't refer
to that again; besides a very, VERY select portion of the dear
lady's townspeople--the house being small, as she explained, and
Miss MacFarlane's intimates and acquaintances being both
importunate and numerous.
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