In the vestry things assumed a brighter tone. There was no lack of
witnesses to sign the register. The verger pointed out to them the
place, and they wrote their names, as people in such cases do,
without stopping to read. Then it occurred to some one that the
bride had not yet signed. She stood apart, with her veil still
down, and appeared to have been forgotten. Encouraged, she came
forward meekly, and took the pen from the hand of the verger. The
countess came and stood behind her.
"Mary," wrote the bride, in a hand that looked as though it ought
to have been firm, but which was not.
"Dear me," said the countess, "I never knew there was a Mary in
your name. How differently you write when you write slowly."
The bride did not answer, but followed with "Susannah."
"Why, what a lot of names you must have, my dear!" exclaimed the
countess. "When are you going to get to the ones we all know?"
"Ruth," continued the bride without answering.
Breeding is not always proof against strong emotion. The countess
snatched the bride's veil from her face, and Mary Susannah Ruth
Sewell stood before her, flushed and trembling, but looking none
the less pretty because of that.
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