CHAPTER VIII.
My marriage was not a particularly interesting event from an anecdotal standpoint. My mother was far too precisely conventional to allow anything to interfere in the slightest with the rule laid down by that terrible tyrant in petticoats, Mrs. Grundy.
I was rather surprised that Arthur cared for the amount of publicity which I saw would attend the event, but he positively gloried in it. He seemed anxious to have his marriage recorded in the four corners of the globe. The feminine newspaper correspondents, who called to ask for the particulars of Miss Bouverie's bridal dress, Miss Bouverie's trousseau, and Miss Bouverie herself, I had strict injunctions from my betrothed to satisfy as far as possible.
My wedding morning was one in which novelists delight—plenty of sun, and a delightfully invigorating atmosphere. I was as happy as a
