Mr. Trevlyn had the diamonds which were the wonder of the city, richly set, and Margie was to wear them on her bridal night, as a special mark of the old man’s favor.  For, next to the diamonds, the sordid man loved Margie Harrison.

Linmere’s gift to his bride was very simple, but in exquisite taste, Mrs. Weldon decided.  A set of turquoise, with his initial and hers interwoven.  Only when they were received, did Margie come out of her cold composure.  She snapped together the lid of the casket containing them with something very like angry impatience, and gave the box to her maid.

“Take them away, Florine, instantly, and put them where I shall never see them again!”

The woman looked surprised, but she was a discreet piece, and strongly attached to her mistress, and she put the ornaments away without comment.

The tenth of October arrived.  A wet, lowering day, with alternate snatches of rain and sunshine, settling down toward sunset into a steady, uncomfortable drizzle.  A dismal enough wedding-day.

The ceremony was to take place at nine o’clock in the evening, and the invited guests were numerous.  Harrison Park would accommodate them all royally.

Mr. Linmere was expected out from the city in the six o’clock train, and as the stopping place was not more than five minutes’ walk from the Park, he had left orders that no carriage need be sent.  He would walk up.  He thought he should need the stimulus of the fresh air to carry him through the fiery ordeal, he said, laughingly.

The long day wore slowly away.  The preparations were complete.  Mrs. Weldon in her violet moire-antique and family diamonds, went through the stately parlors once more to assure herself that everything was au fait.

At five o’clock the task of dressing the bride began.  The bridesmaids were in ecstacies over the finery, and they took almost as much pains in dressing Margie as they would in dressing themselves for a like occasion.

Margie’s cheeks were as white as the robes they put upon her.  One of the girls suggested rouge, but Alexandrine demurred.

“A bride should always be pale,” she said.  “It looks so interesting, and gives everyone the idea that she realizes the responsibility she is taking upon herself—­doesn’t that veil fall sweetly?”

And then followed a shower of feminine expressions of admiration from the four charming bridesmaids.

“Is everything ready?” asked Margie, wearily, when at last they paused in their efforts.

“Yes, everything is as perfect as one could desire,” said Alexandrine.  “How do you feel, Margie, dear?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“You are so self-possessed!  Now, I should be all of a tremble!  Dear me!  I wonder people can be so cold on the eve of such a great change!  But then we are so different.  Will you not take a glass of wine, Margie?”

“Thank you, no.  I do not take wine, you know.”