ouldn't be a lady if you could help it."

"I'd sooner be an honest woman."

"And so you are,--my own dear, dearest, honest Bell,--and the fairest
lady that I know. If I were a man, Bell, you are just the girl that I
should worship."

"But you are not a man; so it's no good."

"But you mustn't let your foot go astray in that way; you mustn't,
indeed. Somebody said, that whatever is, is right, and I declare I
believe it."

"I'm sometimes inclined to think, that whatever is, is wrong."

"That's because you're a radical. I think I'll get up now, Bell; only
it's so frightfully cold that I'm afraid."

"There's a beautiful fire," said Bell.

"Yes; I see. But the fire won't go all around me, like the bed does.
I wish I could know the very moment when they're at the altar. It's
only half-past ten yet."

"I shouldn't be at all surprised if it's over."

"Over! What a word that is! A thing like that is over, and then all
the world cannot put it back again. What if he should be unhappy
after all?"

"He must take his chance," said Bell, thinking within her own mind
that that chance would be a very bad one.

"Of course he must take his chance. Well,--I'll get up now." And then
she took her first step out into the cold world beyond her bed. "We
must all take our chance. I have made up my mind that it will be at
half-past eleven."

When half-past eleven came, she was seated in a large easy chair over
the drawing-room fire, with a little table by her side, on which a
novel was lying. She had not opened her book that morning, and had
been sitting for some time perfectly silent, with her eyes closed,
and her watch in her hand.

"Mamma," she said at last, "it is over now, I'm sure."

"What is over, my dear?"

"He has made that lady his wife. I hope God will bless them, and I
pray that they may be happy." As she spoke these words, there was an
unwonted solemnity in her tone which startled Mrs Dale and Bell.

"I also will hope so," said Mrs Dale. "And now, Lily, will it not be
well that you should turn your mind away from the subject, and
endeavour to think of other things?"

"But I can't, mamma. It is so easy to say that; but people can't
choose their own thoughts."

"They can usually direct them as they will, if they make the effort."

"But I can't make the effort. Indeed, I don't know why I should. It
seems natural to me to think about him, and I don't suppose it can be
very wrong. When you have had so deep an in