It'll be a big Amberson-style thing, raw oysters floating in scooped-out blocks of ice and a band from out-of-town--champagne, showy presents; a colossal present from the Major.

Then Wilbur will take Isabel on the carefulest little wedding trip he can manage, and she'll be a good wife to him, but they'll have the worst spoiled lot of children this town will ever see." "How on earth do you make that out, Mrs.Foster ?" "She couldn't love Wilbur, could she ?" Mrs.Foster demanded, with no challengers.

"Well, it will all go to her children, and she'll ruin 'em!" The prophetess proved to be mistaken in a single detail merely: except for that, her foresight was accurate.

The wedding was of Ambersonian magnificence, even to the floating oysters; and the Major's colossal present was a set of architect's designs for a house almost as elaborate and impressive as the Mansion, the house to be built in Amberson Addition by the Major.

The orchestra was certainly not that local one which had suffered the loss of a bass viol; the musicians came, according to the prophecy and next morning's paper, from afar; and at midnight the bride was still being toasted in champagne, though she had departed upon her wedding journey at ten.