His qualities and tastes were of no exalted importance in themselves, but they seemed so to Emily.  It is that which by one chance or another so commends itself to a creature as to incite it to the emotion called love, which is really of importance, and which, not speaking in figures, holds the power of life and death.  Personality sometimes achieves this, circumstances always aid it; but in all cases the result is the same and sways the world it exists in—­during its existence.  Emily Fox-Seton had fallen deeply and touchingly in love with this particular prosaic, well-behaved nobleman, and her whole feminine being was absorbed in her adoration of him.  Her tender fancy described him by adjectives such as no other human being would have assented to.  She felt that he had condescended to her with a generosity which justified worship.  This was not true, but it was true for her.  As a consequence of this she thought out and purchased her wardrobe with a solemnity of purpose such as might well have been part of a religious ceremonial.  When she consulted fashion plates and Lady Maria, or when she ordered a gown at her ladyship’s dressmaker’s, she had always before her mind, not herself, but the Marchioness of Walderhurst—­a Marchioness of Walderhurst whom the Marquis would approve of and be pleased with.  She did not expect from him what Sir Bruce Norman gave to Lady Agatha.

Agatha and her lover were of a different world.  She saw them occasionally, not often, because the simple selfishness of young love so absorbed them that they could scarcely realise the existence of other persons than themselves.  They were to be married, and to depart for fairyland as soon as possible.  Both were fond of travel, and when they took ship together their intention was to girdle the world at leisure, if they felt so inclined.  They could do anything they chose, and were so blissfully sufficient for each other that there was no reason why they should not follow their every errant fancy.

The lines which had been increasing in Lady Claraway’s face had disappeared, and left her blooming with the beauty her daughters had reproduced.  This delightful marriage had smoothed away every difficulty.  Sir Bruce was the “most charming fellow in England.”  That fact acted as a charm in itself, it seemed.  It was not necessary to go into details as to the mollifying of tradespeople and rearranging of the entire aspect of life at Curzon Street.  When Agatha and Emily Fox-Seton met in town for the first time—­it was in the drawing room at South Audley Street—­they clasped each other’s hands with an exchange of entirely new looks.

“You look so—­so well, Miss Fox-Seton,” said Agatha, with actual tenderness.

If she had not been afraid of seeming a little rudely effusive she would have said “handsome” instead of “well,” for Emily was sweetly blooming.

“Happiness is becoming to you,” she added.  “May I say how glad I am?”