outside the door while she hummed a little tune, which was quite unnecessary, as Robert and I were sitting on opposite sides of the hearth as she entered.

Her attitude was one of airy unconcern, almost, I was going to say, of brazenness. She advanced toward the coalbox, still humming.

“I came to see how the fire was getting on,” she said, picking up the tongs, "some people have a way of letting it out.”

"Aunt Menelophe, you are a base traitor," I observed, seizing her hand and kissing it. "Your and my ways in life will now lie apart."

“Well, then, you must leave my house at once,” she replied, a little smile hovering round the corners of her sweet mouth, "but-Mr. Inderwick may stay."

R

CHAPTER XXXI

The Eve of My Wedding-day

OBERT and I are to be married to-morrow, the

21st of June, and I am so happy I can hardly

bear it. Every now and again I have to screw up my eyes and pinch myself to make sure it is all true. I wander from one room to another, and I don't know them, for there are roses everywhere: pink-of that heavenly tint only to be found inside tiny sea-shells and in the faint flush of dawn on early summer mornings, and-in roses; yellow-pale on the outside, and with hearts of a deeper glow; crimson -great big luscious fellows, velvety and dewy; white -dear little sweet-scented monthly roses, very wide open and wide awake; and even little starry wild roses peeping out from their lovely foliage of green at their bigger and more important brethren. I give myself another little pinch. Can these be our rooms— our dining- and drawing-rooms? Hitherto Angela has not permitted roses to enter them, for roses drop petals, and petals are untidy; but Robert asked for them (at my request), and Angela is wonderfully

submissive to Robert, though she says things behind his back at times. Then, too, the twelve faded damask chairs have new, sprightly chintz covers, strewn with dainty, wee roses. I bought and paid for the chintz out of my trousseau money. It meant doing without another new hat and a second-best parasol; but one could not possibly require two new hats and two parasols, all at once, in Heatherland; it would be wilful extravagance. Besides, I never use a parasol; I only carry one to church on Sundays to impress people.

Mother is radiant over the new covers. Phœbe Ellis made them; and I know mother goes half a dozen times a day to peep at them, and there is a beautiful look of satisfaction on her dear face every time she enters the room. I catch her surreptitiously closing the laths of the blinds. A stray sunbeam has been caught dancing over the chair near to the whatnot; it must be banished at once. It seems funny to think that soon I shall have the blinds up all day at the Old Hall Farm, sun or no sun; the Dee and the banks of yellow sand and the blue Welsh mountains will never be shut out from our view. I shall look across at the shrouded windows of Shady Oak, and give a gentle, little chuckle of satisfaction.

From the roses in the house Dibbs and I wander to the garden and Sammy, and I find roses there, roses everywhere. He and I keep having last little gossips, he assuring me that "wimin" (barring my

self) are "dry hash." He forgets that I shall be living quite close to him, and that there will be frequent opportunities in the future for impressing this depressing and mournful fact upon me. morning I said

66

This

'Sammy, you are really jealous that you yourself are not being married. It seems sad that no young woman would ever have you."

I thought it wise to slip away the next moment to my room to have another peep at my wedding-gown. I take a chair to it and sit down and gaze. It is Aunt Menelophe's wedding gift. Reas, of Basnett Street, call it chiffon, but it is nothing of the kind; it is a bewildering mass of filmy, frothy, billowing sea-foam. When I am not peeping at it I know Rose and Elizabeth are, so it is never alone. I try to imagine what use it will be to me in the future. It will not harmonize with Robert's smoking-coat. He says we shall go to London once a year, and I can then wear it; and Angela suggests my selling it. The romantic side of my sister has never been strongly developed.

The written recipe book is voluminous and fat. I notice the page given over to pickled onions is heavily scored, especially the parts referring to the weight of peppercorns. Mrs. Egerton will wonder at it, as she is to remain on with us, for a time, and housekeep. Robert says he wants us to have the long days of summer and autumn to ourselves-quite

to ourselves-and that their harmony would be completely spoiled were I to be worried with things like butchers and the paraffin oil giving out. Robert takes a sensible view of life, and does not think it essential that a woman should know exactly how many times a week her saucepans are scoured out with boiling soda water. Mother and Angela shake their heads over the retention of Mrs. Egerton. They say it is it is gross extravagance, and will get me into bad ways. Mother has made me promise to keep accounts, and has presented me with a black American-cloth covered book containing ruled lines of three columns, a green purse, and two tin cash-boxes. She says the boxes won't be sufficient for properly kept accounts, but that Robert's empty Navy-cut tobacco tins will fill up the breach. Now I reflect upon it, I have frequently observed mother regarding tobacco boxes with a sort of introspective eye.

Frederick Moss is engaged to Rosabel Hawthorn, and is very pleased and proud at having found someone who will marry him. She is very happy, and says being engaged to a poet gives her funny feelings. I am not surprised. Frederick has, as a wedding present, given me a copy of his own poems bound in white leather. The paper is thick and the margin of the leaves is broad, and the book does not seem to contain much else of importance.

Butterby has given me the beetle for a wedding present. He forgot to return it to me after bor