ight after this eventful afternoon, Olivia received a note
from Greta begging her to bring her work and to spend a few hours with
her. The invitation was a pressing one. "Please do not disappoint
me," she wrote, "for I want to talk to you so much. I think I can
promise that we shall have no interruption. Alwyn is going up to town
for the afternoon, and will not pay his usual call." And then Olivia,
who had planned to have tea with Aunt Madge, put off her visit until
another day, and sent a verbal message of acceptance.

It was one of those late October days, when a touch of frost in the air
gives a hint of the approaching winter, and the bright little fire in
Greta's pretty morning-room was very welcome.

Greta was sitting at her embroidery frame as usual. Her deep mourning
was relieved by the little knot of white chrysanthemums and red leaves
that she wore, and her fair, serious face looked bright and animated.
"Dear Olive, it was so good of you to come," she said, as she ensconced
her guest in a big easy-chair. "I suppose you guessed that I wanted
you particularly," and Olivia nodded.

"I could hardly sleep thinking about it all. Olive, we have settled
the day. Mr. Gaythorne gave Alwyn no peace, and so he was obliged to
speak to me. He said it was very soon to ask me, and that he would
willingly have given me more time, but that in his father's state of
health any delay would only harass him, so I said that I would be ready
by the middle of December. I hope you do not think I am wrong?"

"No, indeed. I think you are very wise."

"Alwyn was so grateful," went on Greta; "he knew my objection to a
winter wedding; but, as he says, it will be so nice to begin the new
year together; and, after all, what do these outward things matter? At
first I thought I would be married in my travelling-dress, and go
straight away from the church; and then I remembered how Alwyn once
said that brides ought always to wear white, that it was symbolical and
poetical, and that you agreed with him."

"Marcus thought just the same!" returned Olivia; "and though I was in
mourning for dear mother, Aunt Madge bought me a lovely white cashmere.
Alas! I have never worn it since, but sometimes I take it out and look
at it. I remember how pleased Marcus was with it. Shall you wear silk
or satin, Greta?" and then Greta owned that she had already decided on
a rich ivory-coloured silk.

"But we will not discuss my _trousseau_ just