Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1889-05-11
A HONEYMOON STORY.

looked upon with much favor by the greater
part OF my relations. We Blundells are. most
of us, proud of our family and ancestors. We
claim to be the direct descendants of the Blopdel
who serenaded CGur de Lion outside his pris-
on window. With the exception of this incl
dent, never could find out that nv ancestors
had ever distinguished themselves in any way:
but my Aunt Matilda, who had acted as guar
dian to me since my. fathers death, never lost
an opportunity of impressing upon me that we
Blundelis were second to none in point of
blood and descent l can see now the air of
conscious pride and dissatisfaction with which
she always spoke of 1.-The Family always with
capital FL, or settled any yeXed question of
etquette by quoting whatever had been from
time Immemorial the custom of the Blundells
with regard to the subject under discussion.
1t was, therefore, shock of no ordinary kind
when announced my intention of marrying
Celia Dobson
The Dobsons were in trade. That vas
enough-more than enough for Aunt Matilda.
She wept, she entroated. she implored me not
to suily the glory of the Blundell escutcheon
by allying myself with one who probably could
not enumerate her ancestors for further back
than paltry century.
But her expostulations were all in vain. / was
my own master. l was head over ears in love
with Celia, and considered that 1 was, on the
whole, the best judge of what would be likely
TO add to my happiness, and having informed
Aunt Matilda that intended to please myself
on this occasion, and further added that it was
an honor to the Blundel's to have such an
angel as my Celia introduced among them,
left her to mourn over my degeneracy and will
funess and to prophesy that no good would
come OF 1t.
Our wedding took place in Maya pro-
verbally unlucky month-but we both of us
scorned such superstition. Our original inten-
ton had been to spend a fortnight of our
honeymoon in Paris and the remaining fort
night in London; but some short time before
our wedding-day Matthew Dobson. Celia s
great-uncle and godfather, must needs take it
into his head to offer us the loan of his villa at
st. Bridgets-super-Ma l at first for
refusing it with thanks. but Celia's mother.
whether from the fact that she had eXpecta-
tons from Uncle Matthew and was afraid of
offending him, or from an idea that it was the
fashionable thing to do, pressed Celia to ac-
cept; and II was far too happy to care very
much where l went, so long as Celia went with
me.
So to st. Bridgets we went. / must say the
weather was most unkind to us. The two frs.
days OF our stay at Montenotte Gas Mr.. Dobson
had called his Villa were days of continual
rain, utterly precluding any idea of leaving the
house; and when the third day came and there
was still no sign OF clear, began to regret
that had given up our Paris plan so easily.
The house was comfortable enough, but to
me, who have always been to a mild extent a
follower of the aesthetic school, the style of
furniture was depressingly ugly. The royal
blue repp curtains of the drawing-room, and
the corner brackets covered with emerald
green velvet and trimmed with macrame lace,
set my teeth on edge. The walls were spat-
tered with plates, most of them of absolutely
worthless china and Mr.. DObsOn's artistic pro-
clivities were further evidenced by a badly
modelled alabaster Cupid and Psyche under a
glass shade in the middle of large mahogany
unlDubtA I'D ' Carlo
Family which hung over the fireplace. care
fully shrOuded from view by AIRED moreen cur
tain. As look back to that room in my mind S
eye, consider that l had some excuse for feel
ing out of temperi
/ do not think should have been so much
aggravated by my surroundings, if l could have,
SO to speak, 'et off steam," by expressing my
horror of them to Celia. But she appeared
quite satisfied. even delighted with everything
and L ask any married man if there is any
thing more trying to moral fiber than to see the
wife of your bosom calmly, placidly good-tem-
pered, when you yourself are seething with
suppressed ill-humor
L made one attempt to improve matters by
suggesting that it might be a good plan if we
were to put away in some box the white crochet
antimacassars with which the drawing-room
was plentifully adorned until we were going
away. But Celia looked puzzled.
What funny idea, Dick!' she said. ''Why
should you want to do that?'
varicated feebly.
But. you stupid boy. they will wash beau
fully. Uncle Matt would never have left them
here If he did not wish us to use them
| saw she was hopelessly contented. and
walked away to the window with nv irrita-
ton driven inwards, and therefore. like a rash
under the same circumstances, much more dam
gerous.
Whatever poets may say. May is not pleas
ant month, especially by the seaside. As
looked out now, L saw before me a dull gray
world. Heavy gray clouds overhead, a heaving
gray expanse of sea below. The tide was
ont. and to right and left stretched away, as
far as could see long reach of sandy shore
pleasant enough doubtless, i'll summertime
but now looking drearily uninteresting, as the
waves broke on 1T with monOtonous, melan-
choly swish.
A cold northwesterly wind was driving the
rain against the windows, and the trees bowed
aud swayed and flung up their arms as though
mourning for the early fate of their beautiful
young leaves, which the wind was recklessly
the ground.
mo going out for US again to-day as far as
can see," / said gloomily.
Celia sighed alphabetically.
1T il too bad isn't it," she said sAnd
had set my heart on n ride with You, Dick!
Wasn't it kind of Uncle Matt to send down his
two horses for us? l do love riding; don't you,
Dick?"
She walked over to the window and passed
her hand caressingly through my arm; but
was longing for plausible grievance and the
fact of not being able to find one made me twice
as irritable as before.
As she seemed to expect an answer said
with hatparticular ''dumpy" sound in my voice
which Is 50 discouraging to an nterocutor:
ION. like riding well enough when have
good horses"
well, l am sure Uncle Mats" she
began, but cut her short.
Your Uncle Mats horses are a couple of old
screws; Invent to look at them in the stable
yesterday"
She looked vaguely bewildered at the tone of
my voice.
why, what is the matter with you, Dick?
Has anything annoyed you?''
Here was my opportunity.
Anything annoyed me!' burst out sIsn't
it enough to annoy any fellow, to be cooped up
in confounded hole like this, with nothing
but that beastly sea and sand to look at outside,
and room like this to live imp"
Celia looked hurt and indignant, and I saw
the glimmer OF coming tears in her eyes,
''What is the matter with the room?" she
asked. II am sure see nothing to grumble
at. / do not think ever was in nicer room
than it ISL
Very likely! But, my dear Celia" 1 con-
tinued with patrOnizing tone, which must
have been infinitely harder to bear than even
my simple bad temper MY dear Celia 1 am
afraid you have still a great deal to learn in
the matter of artistic taste" And l looked
round the room with an expression of lofty con-
tempt.
.'Oh, as far as artistic taste goes. Dick, I am
sure you are wrong, for Uncle Matt is ever so
artistic. Why, he draws and paints himselfl'
81 have no dOubt he ia n second RanbaaI 7