“This day week, then, is the day of the marriage?”

“Yes.  This day week.  There have been reasons for hurrying it which I need not trouble you with.  No words can say how I wish it was over.—­But, my dear Mrs. Delamayn, how thoughtless of me to assail you with my family worries!  You are so sympathetic.  That is my only excuse.  Don’t let me keep you from your guests.  I could linger in this sweet place forever!  Where is Mrs. Glenarm?”

“I really don’t know.  I missed her when we came out on the terrace.  She will very likely join us at the lake.  Do you care about seeing the lake, Lady Lundie?”

“I adore the beauties of Nature, Mrs. Delamayn—­especially lakes!”

“We have something to show you besides; we have a breed of swans on the lake, peculiar to the place.  My husband has gone on with some of our friends; and I believe we are expected to follow, as soon as the rest of the party—­in charge of my sister—­have seen the house.”

“And what a house, Mrs. Delamayn!  Historical associations in every corner of it!  It is such a relief to my mind to take refuge in the past.  When I am far away from this sweet place I shall people Swanhaven with its departed inmates, and share the joys and sorrows of centuries since.”

As Lady Lundie announced, in these terms, her intention of adding to the population of the past, the last of the guests who had been roaming over the old house appeared under the porch.  Among the members forming this final addition to the garden-party were Blanche, and a friend of her own age whom she had met at Swanhaven.  The two girls lagged behind the rest, talking confidentially, arm in arm—­the subject (it is surely needless to add) being the coming marriage.

“But, dearest Blanche, why are you not to be married at Windygates?”

“I detest Windygates, Janet.  I have the most miserable associations with the place.  Don’t ask me what they are!  The effort of my life is not to think of them now.  I long to see the last of Windygates.  As for being married there, I have made it a condition that I am not to be married in Scotland at all.”

“What has poor Scotland done to forfeit your good opinion, my dear?”

“Poor Scotland, Janet, is a place where people don’t know whether they are married or not.  I have heard all about it from my uncle.  And I know somebody who has been a victim—­an innocent victim—­to a Scotch marriage.”

“Absurd, Blanche!  You are thinking of runaway matches, and making Scotland responsible for the difficulties of people who daren’t own the truth!”

“I am not at all absurd.  I am thinking of the dearest friend I have.  If you only knew—­”

“My dear! I am Scotch, remember!  You can be married just as well—­I really must insist on that—­in Scotland as in England.”

“I hate Scotland!”

“Blanche!”

“I never was so unhappy in my life as I have been in Scotland.  I never want to see it again.  I am determined to be married in England—­from the dear old house where I used to live when I was a little girl.  My uncle is quite willing. He understands me and feels for me.”