ey felt so inclined. They could do anything they chose, and were so
blissfully sufficient for each other that there was no reason why they
should not follow their every errant fancy.

The lines which had been increasing in Lady Claraway's face had
disappeared, and left her blooming with the beauty her daughters had
reproduced. This delightful marriage had smoothed away every difficulty.
Sir Bruce was the "most charming fellow in England." That fact acted as
a charm in itself, it seemed. It was not necessary to go into details as
to the mollifying of tradespeople and rearranging of the entire aspect
of life at Curzon Street. When Agatha and Emily Fox-Seton met in town
for the first time--it was in the drawing room at South Audley
Street--they clasped each other's hands with an exchange of entirely new
looks.

"You look so--so _well_, Miss Fox-Seton," said Agatha, with actual
tenderness.

If she had not been afraid of seeming a little rudely effusive she would
have said "handsome" instead of "well," for Emily was sweetly blooming.

"Happiness is becoming to you," she added. "May I say how _glad_ I am?"

"Thank you, thank you!" Emily answered. "Everything in the world seems
changed, doesn't it?"

"Yes, everything."

They stood and gazed into each other's eyes a few seconds, and then
loosed hands with a little laugh and sat down to talk.

It was, in fact, Lady Agatha who talked most, because Emily Fox-Seton
led her on and aided her to delicate expansion by her delight in all
that in these days made up her existence of pure bliss. It was as if an
old-time fairy story were being enacted before Emily's eyes. Agatha
without doubt had grown lovelier, she thought; she seemed even fairer,
more willowy, the forget-me-not eyes were of a happier blue, as
forget-me-nots growing by clear water-sides are bluer than those grown
in a mere garden. She appeared, perhaps, even a little taller, and her
small head had, if such a thing were possible, a prettier flower-like
poise. This, at least, Emily thought, and found her own happiness added
to by her belief in her fancy. She felt that nothing was to be wondered
at when she heard Agatha speak of Sir Bruce. She could not utter his
name or refer to any act of his without a sound in her voice which had
its parallel in the light floating haze of blush on her cheeks. In her
intercourse with the world in general she would have been able to
preserve her customary sweet composure, but Emily