Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. It was years before your time. “A man can manage without hair; A man scores always, everywhere. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends.
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