“Had I better take off the bonnet, Martha?  I thought these very large chrysanthemums—­I chose them on purpose—­”

“Hideous—­you’re a perfect fright!  Look at me.  Is there anything to laugh at in my velvet bonnet?  Does it poke itself on the back of my head?  And does it deck itself in pink and yellow?”

“It looks funereal, Martha, it’s all black.”

“Funereal!  It looks suitable.  Come on, or we’ll be late.”

The two ladies left the house.  They walked quickly in the early morning light.  Presently, they were joined by Mrs. Gorman Stanley.  She was completely clothed in bridal garments of yellow.  Her robe was yellow satin, her bonnet was to match, with blue forget-me-nots cozily nestling in its folds.  Mrs. Morris joined the group in terra-cotta cashmere, with a cream lace bonnet.  Round her face and mouth she had enveloped a black woollen shawl, but this was to be discarded presently.

As the ladies walked to the church they were joined by several more Beatricites, and when at last they found themselves under the shadow of the old tower, and in the shelter of the ancient porch, they were quite a goodly company.

“We’ll just fill the front seats comfortably,” said Mrs. Butler.  “When Mrs. Bell and her Hartites arrive they’ll have to go behind.”

“But how are we to get in?” again questioned Miss Maria.

“Oh, I’ll manage that.  I have it all arranged.  I spoke to Hunt yesterday.”

Hunt was not only the baker, he was the church verger.  He had quite sympathized with Mrs. Butler’s wishes, while selling her a two-penny loaf yesterday.  But why did he not put in an appearance now?

“Martha,” again whispered Miss Maria, “Who are those people creeping round there by the south wall?”

“No one,” snapped Mrs. Butler.  “You’re fanciful this morning, Maria.  It’s those horrid lemon-colored chrysanthemums; they have turned your head.”

“I don’t know about that,” retorted Miss Peters.  “I am sure I saw Mrs. Bell’s snuff-colored bonnet.”

Mrs. Butler sniffed.  She would not retort again; but she was conscious of a little sense of uneasiness.  It was difficult, even for a person as blind as she considered her sister Maria, to mistake that snuff-colored, drawn silk bonnet, ornamented with a huge bow in front of pale blue ribbon.  That bonnet was celebrated.  It had been worn by Mrs. Bell in season and out of season for many long years; it had been altered in shape; it had been turned.  Sometimes the bow which filled up the gap in front was yellow, sometimes red, sometimes mauve.  But every one in the town knew that for the wedding the bow on Mrs. Bell’s bonnet was to be a delicate and bridal blue.  This was to be her sole wedding adornment.  To the length of purchasing that bow she had gone, and no further.  Therefore now Mrs. Butler felt uncomfortable.  If the Hartites secured the front seats in church she would have to own to defeat and humiliation.  Was Hunt—­could Hunt be faithless?  He was known to be something of a toady, something of a Sergeant Eitherside, a Vicar of Bray sort of individual.  To all appearance Hunt was a sworn Beatricite, but if by any chance he had heard something in favor of the Hartites, he was just the man to go over to them.