stepmother severe nervous depression,
one knows without further particulars how difficult it would be to be
married from home. She says she simply won't be married from her
Porchhammer sister's, because she gushes, and it isn't fair to Percy.
Her other sister--the one with a name like Rattrap--doesn't gush, but
her husband's going to stand for Stockport."

"I suppose," said Gwen, "those are both good reasons. Anyhow, you'll
have to accommodate the happy couple. I see that. I suppose papa will
have to give her away. If she allows Madame Pontet to groom her, she'll
look eighteen. I wonder whether they couldn't manage to...."

"Couldn't manage to...?"

"Oh no, I see it would be out of the question, because of the time. I
was going to say--wait for _us_. And then we could all have been married
together." Gwen had remembered the Self-denying Ordinance, which was to
last six months, and was not even inaugurated. She looked up at her
mother. "Come, dear mother of mine, there's nothing to be shocked at in
that!"

The Countess had risen from her seat, as though to depart. She stood
looking across the wintry expanse of Hyde Park, seen through a
bow-window across a balcony, with shrubs in boxes getting the full
benefit of a seasonable nor'easter; and when at length she spoke, gave
no direct reply. "I came up here to talk to you about it," she said.
"But I see it would not be of any use. I may as well go. Did Dr.
Dalrymple say when Clotilda would be out of danger? Supposing that all
goes well, I mean."

"How can he tell? I'm glad I'm not a doctor with a critical case, and
everyone trying to make me prophesy favourable results. It's worse for
him than it is for us, anyhow, poor man!"

"Why? He's not a relation, is he?"

"No. Oh no! Perhaps if he were one.... Well--perhaps if he were, he
wouldn't look so miserable.... No--they are only very old friends." The
Countess had not asked; this was all brain-wave, helped by shades of
expression. "I'm not supposed to _know_ anything, you know," added Gwen,
to adjust matters.

"Well--I suppose we must hope for the best," said her mother, with an
implied recognition of Providence in the background; a mere civility!
"Now I'm going."

"Very well then--go!" was what Gwen did _not_ say in reply. She only
thought that, if she _had_ said it, it would have served mamma right.
What she did say was:--"I know what you meant to say when you came
upstairs, and you had better say it. Only I shal