They went.

Colonel Mansfield with a species of jocose pomposity specially assumed for the occasion, his wife, upright, thin-lipped, forbidding, instinct with wordless disapproval.
The bride,--the veil thrown back from her beautiful face,--stood laughing with her husband.

There was no fixity in the soft flush of those delicately rounded cheeks.

Even Lady Harriet realized that, though she had never seen so much colour in the girl's face before.

She advanced stiffly, and Ralph Dacre with smiling grace took his wife's arm and drew her forward.
"This is good of you, Lady Harriet," he declared.