r, not threat me, her husband, Amable Poussette, right at
all."

"I'm in no mood for these difficult distinctions in morality!" cried
Ringfield in exasperation. "What day is this wedding--tell me that!"

Poussette gave him the day and hour--eleven o'clock in a certain
Episcopal church in Montreal on the 24th of December, and then they
parted.

From this moment a steady pursuit of one idea characterized Ringfield's
actions. Already charged to explosive point by pressure of emotions
both worthy and the reverse, he immediately entered into correspondence
with several charitable institutions with regard to Angeel, and he also
wrote to Mr. Enderby and Mr. Abercorn. It was now the ninth of the
month and the snow still held. Sobriety still held and long faces; the
American organ was never opened, and Pauline and her satellite, Miss
Cordova, were mostly buried in their bedrooms, concocting an impromptu
trousseau.

CHAPTER XXII

THE TROUSSEAU OF PAULINE

"--the whole domain
To some, too lightly minded, might appear
A meadow carpet for the dancing hours."

"Tra-la!" sang Miss Clairville, as she pressed heavily on the folds of
a purple cloth skirt which had once done service in the "Grand
Duchess," but was now being transformed by hot irons, rows of black
braid and gilt buttons into a highly respectable travelling dress.

"I thought at first of giving this old thing away, but see how well
it's going to look, after all!"

The Cordova, busy heating an iron on the "drum" which stood in a corner
of the room, looked at the skirt and at first said nothing.

"It's too dark for a bride's travelling-dress," she said after a while.

"Do you think so? But not for a dark bride," said the other with an
uneasy frown. "Well, I'm not a girl, you see; besides, without a
sewing machine you and I could never manufacture an entire costume. I
meant to give it to you; in fact, I had it tied up in that bundle once,
then I changed my mind--woman's prerogative--and here it is."

"Thank you, but I shouldn't care for it anyhow, purple's not my colour;
it looks awful with my kind of hair."

Pauline glanced up coldly at the bleached head bending over the irons.

"Perhaps it does. Well--it's too late now even if you did care for it.
I'll wear plenty of white around my neck and down the front; a cascade,
_jabot_ effect always suits me."

She wound a white scarf around her as she spoke, and bent an old black
hat into a t