dgment that she inherited from her father. These
qualities, however, stood her in good stead that day. "It is no use to
be weak," she said to herself. "What good shall I do to Ethel if I give
her cause to suspect Oliver Trent's truth to her? The only question
is--ought I to tell her--to put her on her guard? Oh, I think not--I
hope not. If he marries her, he cannot help loving her; and it would
break her heart--now--if I told her that he was not faithful. I must be
brave and go to her, and be as sympathetic as usual--take pleasure in
her pleasure, and try to forget the past! but I wish she were going to
marry a man that one could trust, like my father, or like--Maurice."

She always called him Maurice when she thought about him now.

It took all the strength that she possessed, however, to go through the
ordeal of those hours with Ethel. She managed to keep away until nearly
nine o'clock on Monday night, and then--just after her father had gone
out--she received a peremptory little note from Ethel. "Why don't you
come? You said you would come almost directly after dinner, and it is
ever so late now. Oliver has just left me: he has business in the city,
so I shall not see him again until to-morrow. Do come at once, or I
shall begin to feel lonely."

So Lesley went.

She had to look at the wedding-cake, the wedding-gown, the simple little
breakfast table. She sat up with Ethel until two in the morning, helping
her to pack up her things, and listening to her praises of Oliver. That
was the worst of it. Ethel _would_ talk of Oliver, _would_ descant on
his perfections, and, above all, on his love for her. It was very
natural talk on Ethel's part, but it was indescribably painful and
humiliating to Lesley. Every moment of silence seemed to her like an
implicit lie, and yet she could not bring herself to destroy the fine
edifice of her friend's hopes, although she knew she could bring it down
to the ground with a touch--a word.

"And I am so glad there is not to be a fuss," Ethel said at last, when
St. Pancras' clock was striking two: "for I always thought that a fussy
wedding would be horrid. You see, Lesley, I have dressed up so often in
white satin and lace, as a bride, or a girl in a ballroom, or some other
character not my own, that I feel now as if there would be no reality
for me in a wedding if I did not wear rather every-day clothes. In a
bride's conventional dress, I should only fancy myself on the stage
again."