very sweet, my dear, and so delightfully calm, you really do
surprise me. I always thought you'd have hysterics on your wedding-day,
and got my _vinaigrette_ all ready. Keep your hands just as they are,
with the handkerchief and bouquet, it looks very easy and rich. Dear me,
what a spectacle I've made of myself! But I shall cry no more, not even
during the ceremony as many do. Such displays of feeling are in very bad
taste, and I shall be firm, perfectly firm, so if you hear any one sniff
you'll know it isn't me. Now I must go and scramble on my dress; first,
let me arrange you smoothly in a chair. There, my precious, now think of
soothing things, and don't stir till Geoffrey comes for you."

Too tired to care what happened just then, Sylvia sat as she was placed,
feeling like a fashion-plate of a bride, and wishing she could go to
sleep. Presently the sound of steps as fleet as Mark's but lighter,
waked her up, and forgetting orders, she rustled to the door with an
expression which fashion-plates have not yet attained.

"Good morning, little bride."

"Good morning, bonny bridegroom."

Then they looked at one another, and both smiled. But they seemed to
have changed characters, for Moor's usually tranquil face was full of
pale excitement; Sylvia's usually vivacious one, full of quietude, and
her eyes wore the unquestioning content of a child who accepts some
friendly hand, sure that it will lead it right.

"Prue desires me to take you out into the upper hall, and when Mr. Deane
beckons, we are to go down at once. The rooms are full, and Jessie is
ready. Shall we go?"

"One moment: Geoffrey, are you quite happy now?"

"Supremely happy!"

"Then it shall be the first duty of my life to keep you so," and with a
gesture soft yet solemn, Sylvia laid her hand in his, as if endowing him
with both gift and giver. He held it fast and never let it go until it
was his own.

In the upper hall they found Mark hovering about Jessie like an agitated
bee, about a very full-blown flower, and Clara Deane flapping him away,
lest he should damage the effect of this beautiful white rose. For ten
minutes, ages they seemed, the five stood together listening to the stir
below, looking at one another, till they were tired of the sight and
scent of orange blossoms, and wishing that the whole affair was safely
over. But the instant a portentous "Hem!" was heard, and a white glove
seen to beckon from the stair foot, every one fell into a