her soft but full-bodied vowels; above all, her slow cadences that
hovered on the verge of song, as her walk on the verge of a slow aerial
dance; the carriage of her head, the movements of her lips, her arms,
her hands; the self-possession that seemed the very embodiment of
law--these formed together a whole of inexpressible delight,
inextricably for Mary associated with music and verse: she would hasten
to serve her as if she had been an angel come to do a little earthly
shopping, and return with the next heavenward tide. Hesper, in response
all but unconscious, would be waited on by no other than Mary; and
always between them passed some sweet, gentle nothings, which afforded
Hesper more pleasure than she could have accounted for.

Her wedding-day was now for the third time fixed, when one morning she
entered the shop to make some purchases. Not happy in the prospect
before her, she was yet inclined to make the best of it so far as
clothes were concerned--the more so, perhaps, that she had seldom yet
been dressed to her satisfaction: she was now brooding over a certain
idea for her wedding-dress, which she had altogether failed in the
attempt to convey to her London _couturiere_; and it had come into her
head to try whether Mary might not grasp her idea, and help her to make
it intelligible. Mary listened and thought, questioned, and desired
explanations--at length, begged she would allow her to ponder the thing
a little: she could hardly at once venture to say anything. Hesper
laughed, and said she was taking a small matter too
seriously--concluding from Mary's hesitation that she had but perplexed
her, and that she could be of no use to her in the difficulty.

"A small matter? Your wedding-dress!" exclaimed Mary, in a tone of
expostulation.

Hesper did not laugh again, but gave a little sigh instead, which
struck sadly on Mary's sympathetic heart. She cast a quick look in her
face. Hesper caught the look, and understood it. For one passing moment
she felt as if, amid the poor pleasure of adorning herself for a hated
marriage, she had found a precious thing of which she had once or twice
dreamed, never thought as a possible existence--a friend, namely, to
love her: the next, she saw the absurdity of imagining a friend in a
shop-girl.

"But I must make up my mind so soon!" she answered. "Madame Crepine
gave me her idea, in answer to mine, but nothing like it, two days ago;
and, as I have not written again, I fear