We reach the house.

Vick comes out to meet us in a crawling, groveling manner, which owes its birth to the _shame_ caused in her mind by the huge favor which my maid has tied round her little neck.

We go into breakfast and feed--the _women_ with easy minds; the _men_, with such appetites as the fear of impending speeches, of horrible shattered commonplaces leaves them.
I suppose that, despite my change of name, I cannot yet be wholly a Tempest; for, while I remain perfectly serene and calm during Sir Roger's few plain words, I am one red misery while Algy is returning thanks for the bridesmaids, which he does in so appallingly lame, stammering, and altogether agonizing a manner, that I have serious thoughts of slipping from my bridegroom's side under the friendly shade of the table, among its sheltering legs.
Thank God it is over, and I am gone to put on my traveling-dress! The odious parting moment has come.

The carriage is at the door: the maid and valet are in the dickey.

What a pity that they are not bride and bridegroom too! Vick has jumped in--alert and self-respecting again now that she has bitten off her favor.
I have begun my voluminous farewells.