know. But how
familiar the place seems again! What's that I saw on the beaufet in the
other room? It never used to be there. A sort of withered corpse of a
cake--not an old bride-cake surely?'

'Yes, John, ours. 'Tis the very one that was made for our wedding three
years ago.'

'Sakes alive! Why, time shuts up together, and all between then and now
seems not to have been! What became of that wedding-gown that they were
making in this room, I remember--a bluish, whitish, frothy thing?'

'I have that too.'

'Really! . . . Why, Selina--'

'Yes!'

'Why not put it on now?'

'Wouldn't it seem--. And yet, O how I should like to! It would remind
them all, if we told them what it was, how we really meant to be married
on that bygone day!' Her eyes were again laden with wet.

'Yes . . . The pity that we didn't--the pity!' Moody mournfulness seemed
to hold silent awhile one not naturally taciturn. 'Well--will you?' he
said.

'I will--the next dance, if mother don't mind.'

Accordingly, just before the next figure was formed, Selina disappeared,
and speedily came downstairs in a creased and box-worn, but still airy
and pretty, muslin gown, which was indeed the very one that had been
meant to grace her as a bride three years before.

'It is dreadfully old-fashioned,' she apologized.

'Not at all. What a grand thought of mine! Now, let's to't again.'

She explained to some of them, as he led her to the second dance, what
the frock had been meant for, and that she had put it on at his request.
And again athwart and around the room they went.

'You seem the bride!' he said.

'But I couldn't wear this gown to be married in now!' she replied,
ecstatically, 'or I shouldn't have put it on and made it dusty. It is
really too old-fashioned, and so folded and fretted out, you can't think.
That was with my taking it out so many times to look at. I have never
put it on--never--till now!'

'Selina, I am thinking of giving up the army. Will you emigrate with me
to New Zealand? I've an uncle out there doing well, and he'd soon help
me to making a larger income. The English army is glorious, but it ain't
altogether enriching.'

'Of course, anywhere that you decide upon. Is it healthy there for
Johnny?'

'A lovely climate. And I shall never be happy in England . . . Aha!' he
concluded again, with a bitterness of unexpected strength, 'would to
Heaven I had come straight back here!'

As the dance brought