The ensuing weeks were passed in all the bustle of preparations necessarily attendant on the nuptials of the great.  Every morning brought from Town dresses, jewels, patterns, and packages of all descriptions.  Lady Juliana was in ecstasies, even though it was but happiness in the second person.  Mary watched her sister’s looks with the most painful solicitude; for from her lips she knew she never would learn the sentiments of her heart.  But Adelaide was aware she had a part to act, and she went through it with an ease and self-possession that seemed to defy all scrutiny.  Once or twice, indeed, her deepening colour and darkening brow betrayed the feelings of her heart, as the Duke of Altamont and Lord Lindore were brought into comparison; and Mary shuddered to think that her sister was even now ashamed of the man whom she was so soon to vow to love, honour, and obey.  She had vainly tried to lead Adelaide to the subject.  Adelaide would listen to nothing which she had reason to suppose was addressed to herself; but either with cool contempt took up a book, or left the room, or, with insolent affectation, would put her hands to her head, exclaiming, "Mes oreilles n’etoient pas faites pour les entretiens serieux." All Mary’s worst fears were confirmed a few days before that fixed for the marriage.  As she entered the music-room she was startled to find Lord Lindore and Adelaide alone.  Unwilling to suppose that her presence would be considered as an interruption, she seated herself at a little distance from them, and was soon engrossed by her task.  Adelaide, too, had the air of being deeply intent upon some trifling employment; and Lord Lindore, as he sat opposite to her, with his head resting upon his hands, had the appearance of being engaged in reading.  All were silent for some time; but as Mary happened to look up, she saw Lord Lindore’seyes fixed earnestly upon her sister, and with voice of repressed feeling he repeated,_"Ah! je le sens, ma Julie! si’l falloit renoncer a vous, il n’y auroit plus pour moi d’autre sejour ni d’autre saison:"_ and throwing down the book, he quitted the room.  Adelaide pale and agitated, rose as if to follow him; then, recollecting herself, she rushed from the apartment by an opposite door.  Mary followed, vainly hoping that in this moment of excited feeling she might be induced to open her heart to the voice of affection; but Adelaide was a stranger to sympathy, and saw only the degradation of confessing the struggle she endured in choosing betwixt love and ambition.  That her heart was Lord Lindore’s she could not conceal from herself, though she would not confess it to another—­and that other the tenderest of sisters, whose only wish was to serve her.  Mary’s tears and entreaties were therefore in vain, and at Adelaide’s repeated desire she at length quitted her and returned to the room she had left.