s "setting out" was to be on a scale of
unprecedented magnificence. Uncle Reuben had money, and did not grudge
spending it. Aunt Hetty took her into town, and a whole day was spent
shopping--the big family carryall went home in the evening filled to
repletion with dry goods. A seamstress and a dressmaker were engaged,
both to come out on the following day, and Norine, in the pleasant
bustle and hurry, actually forgot Laurence Thorndyke for eight
consecutive hours.

The two seamstresses came to Kent Hill the following morning, and great
and mighty were the measuring and cutting that ensued. The "keeping
room," was given up to them and the bride elect, and all day long, and
for many days after, their busy needles flew. Before the end of the week
it was known far and wide that pretty Norry Kent, as she was called
there, had made a great conquest, and was about to be married to one of
the richest lawyers in New York.

Mr. Gilbert's letters came like clock-work every week, and Norine's
replies went dutifully the day after. They were not much like
love-letters on either side, particularly on hers, but Mr. Gilbert's
were deeply and tenderly affectionate, better than all the rhapsodies
ever written. His presents, too--and such presents, poured in, in a
ceaseless stream. Jewelry that half turned the pretty bride's head with
its dazzling splendor, laces that fairy fingers alone could have woven,
pretty, costly _bijouterie_ of all kinds.

"How good he is--how good he is!" Norine thought, in a burst of
gratitude. "I ought to love him--I _will_ love him--who could help it in
time, and I will make him as happy as ever I can."

She might have kept her word; it would surely have been no impossible
task to learn to love Richard Gilbert. She meant it in all
sincerity--his generosity had already kindled a deeper feeling than mere
gratitude in her heart. The dazzle of Laurence Thorndyke's image was
slowly but surely dimming, and she could sing blithely once more as she
bent over her work, or tripped about the rooms. Who could be unhappy in
white silk and lustrous pearls, orange blossoms and Mechlin lace, with
rich rings a-sparkle on every finger, and glittering bracelets clasping
the lovely arms? The color came back to Miss Bourdon's cheek, the
girlish brightness to her lovely Canadian eyes--once more her gay girl's
laugh rang out--once more the tripping French ballads made melody
through the old gray rooms. You see she was not quite e