“Only, mamma,” said Marcella, discontentedly, “I don’t like that little chain round your neck.  It is not equal to the rest, not worthy of it.”

“I have nothing else, my dear,” said Mrs. Boyce, drily.  “Now, Deacon, don’t be all night!”

Nothing else?  Yet, if she shut her eyes, Marcella could perfectly recall the diamonds on the neck and arms of that white figure of her childhood—­could see herself as a baby playing with the treasures of her mother’s jewel-box.

Nowadays, Mrs. Boyce was very secretive and reserved about her personal possessions.  Marcella never went into her room unless she was asked, and would never have thought of treating it or its contents with any freedom.

The mean chain which went so ill with the costly hoarded dress—­it recalled to Marcella all the inexorable silent miseries of her mother’s past life, and all the sordid disadvantages and troubles of her own youth.  She followed Mrs. Boyce out to the carriage in silence—­once more in a tumult of sore pride and doubtful feeling.

* * * * *

Four weeks to her wedding-day!  The words dinned in her ears as they drove along.  Yet they sounded strange to her, incredible almost.  How much did she know of Aldous, of her life that was to be—­above all, how much of herself?  She was not happy—­had not been happy or at ease for many days.  Yet in her restlessness she could think nothing out.  Moreover, the chain that galled and curbed her was a chain of character.  In spite of her modernness, and the complexity of many of her motives, there was certain inherited simplicities of nature at the bottom of her.  In her wild demonic childhood you could always trust Marcie Boyce, if she had given you her word—­her schoolfellows knew that.  If her passions were half-civilised and southern, her way of understanding the point of honour was curiously English, sober, tenacious.  So now.  Her sense of bond to Aldous had never been in the least touched by any of her dissatisfactions and revolts.  Yet it rushed upon her to-night with amazement, and that in four weeks she was going to marry him!  Why? how?—­what would it really mean for him and for her?  It was as though in mid-stream, she were trying to pit herself for an instant against the current which had so far carried them all on, to see what it might be like to retrace a step, and could only realise with dismay the force and rapidity of the water.

Yet all the time another side of her was well aware that she was at that moment the envy of half a county, that in another ten minutes hundreds of eager and critical eyes would be upon her; and her pride was rising to her part.  The little incident of the chain had somehow for the moment made the ball and her place in it more attractive to her.

* * * * *