wdrey at a picture-gallery or in the
Park; and at the first of these chance meetings, struck by the obvious
delight with which the two young people greeted each other, Lady Susan
jumped to a conclusion.

"That's your young man, I suppose, my dear," she said bluntly, when
Rorie had left them.

"Oh, Lady Susan!"

"It's a vulgar expression, I know, my dear, but it comes natural to me;
I hear it so often from our housemaids. I fancied that you and that
handsome young fellow must be engaged."

"Oh no. We are only old friends. He is engaged to Lady Mabel
Ashbourne--a very grand match."

"That's a pity," said Lady Susan.

"Why?"

"Well, my dear," answered the old lady hesitatingly, "because when one
hears of a grand match, it generally means that a young man is marrying
for the sake of money, and that young old friend of yours looks too
good to throw himself away like that."

"Oh, but indeed, Lady Susan, it is not so in Rorie's case. He has
plenty of money of his own."

The important day came; and Lady Susan, Mrs. Winstanley, and Violet
packed themselves and their finery into a capacious carriage, and set
off for St. James's. The fair Pamela's costume was an elaborate example
of Theodore's highest art; colours, design, all of the newest--a
delicate harmony of half-tints, an indescribable interblending of
feathers, lace, and flowers. Violet was simply and elegantly dressed by
the same great artist. Lady Susan wore a petticoat and train that must
have been made in the time of Queen Adelaide. Yes, the faded and
unknown hue of the substantial brocade, the skimpiness of the satin,
the quaint devices in piping-cord and feather-stitch--must assuredly
have been coeval with that good woman's famous hat and spencer.

Poor Mrs. Winstanley was horrified when she saw her husband's kinswoman
attired for the ceremony, not a whit less wiggy and snuffy than usual,
and with three lean ostrich feathers starting erect from her back hair,
like the ladies in the proscenium boxes of Skelt's Theatre, whose gaily
painted effigies were so dear to our childhood.

Poor Pamela felt inclined to shed tears. Even her confidence in the
perfection of her own toilet could hardly sustain her against the
horror of being presented by such a scarecrow.

The ceremony went off satisfactorily, in spite of Lady Susan's
antiquated garments. Nobody laughed. Perhaps the _habitues_ of St.
James's were accustomed to scarecrows. Violet's fresh young beauty
a