days they will be married, and then I’m sure it will be all right,—I’m sure of it.” Like many people, Mrs. Markham emphasized by repetition a statement of whose truth she was far from sure.                

The day before the wedding the old house was a pleasant scene of bustle and confusion. Professional decorators were in charge of the great drawing-room, building a canopy of green vines and flowers, beneath which the bridal pair should stand the next day at high noon. This work was greatly hindered by a bevy of young people who thought they were helping. At last, noting a look of dumb exasperation on the face of one of the florist’s men, Molly Gardner exclaimed, “I don’t believe our help is needed here; come on, Kitty, let’s go in the library and wait for tea-time.” It was nearly five o’clock, and the girls found most of the house guests already assembled in the library, awaiting the arrival of the tea-tray. Several other young people were there also, most of them being those who were to be of the wedding cortège next day. Robert Fessenden, who was to be best man, had just come from New York, and had dropped in to see Miss Van Norman. Although he was an old friend of Carleton’s, Madeleine did not know him very well, and though she made him welcome, it was with that coldly formal air that did not greatly attract the young man, but he could not fail to be impressed by her great beauty.                

“Lucky fellow, Carleton,” he said to Tom Willard. “Why, that woman would create a sensation in any great city in the world.” “Yes, she is too handsome to live all her life in a small village,” agreed Tom. “I think they intend to travel a great deal.” “An heiress, too, I believe.” “Yes, she has all the desirable traits a woman can possess.” “All?” Fessenden’s tone was quizzical. “What do you mean?” asked Tom sharply. “Nothing; only, if I were to marry, I should prefer a little more softness of nature.” “Oh, that’s only her manner. My cousin is most sweet and womanly, I assure you.” “I’m sure she is,” returned Fessenden, who was a bit ashamed of his outspokenness; “and she’s getting a sterling good fellow for a husband.” “She is so,” said Tom, heartily, which was kind of him, considering his own opinion of Carleton. And then both men strolled over to where Madeleine sat at the tea-table. She was reading a telegram that had just been brought to her, and she laughingly explained to Tom that it meant a bother for him. “Miss Morton has concluded to come to the wedding, after all,” she said. “She wrote me that she wouldn’t come, but she has changed her mind, it seems. Now, it does sound ridiculous, I know, but in this big house there isn’t a room left for her but the 

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