“Do you think it nice to go to Rome on a wedding journey?” said Celia, with her ready delicate blush which Dorothea was used to on the smallest occasions.
“It would not suit all—not you, dear, for example,” said Dorothea, quietly. No one would ever know what she thought of a wedding journey to Rome.
“ Mrs. Cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a long journey when they are married. She says they get tired to death of each other, and can’t quarrel comfortably, as they would at home. And Lady Chettam says she went to Bath.” Celia’s color changed again and again—seemed
“To come and go with tidings from the heart, As it a running messenger had been.”
It must mean more than Celia’s blushing usually did.
“Celia! has something happened?” said Dorothea, in a tone full of sisterly feeling. “Have you really any great news to tell me?”
“It was because you went away, Dodo. Then there was nobody but me for Sir James to talk to,” said Celia, with a certain roguishness in her eyes.
“I understand. It is as I used to hope and believe,” said Dorothea, taking her sister’s face between her hands, and looking at her half anxiously. Celia’s marriage seemed more serious than it used to do.
“It was only three days ago,” said Celia. “And Lady Chettam is very kind.”
“And you are very happy?”
“Yes. We are not going to be married yet. Because everything is to be got ready. And I don’t want to be married so very soon, because I think it is nice to be engaged. And we shall be married all our lives after.”