One of the most interesting features of the occasion was the presence of the future Marchioness of Walderhurst, “the beautiful Miss Fox-Seton.”  The fashion papers were very strenuous on the subject of Emily’s beauty.  One of them mentioned that the height and pose of her majestic figure and the cut of her profile suggested the Venus of Milo.  Jane Cupp cut out every paragraph she could find and, after reading them aloud to her young man, sent them in a large envelope to Chichester.  Emily, faithfully endeavouring to adjust herself to the demands of her approaching magnificence, was several times alarmed by descriptions of her charms and accomplishments which she came upon accidentally in the course of her reading of various periodicals.

The Walderhurst wedding was dignified and distinguished, but not radiant.  The emotions Emily passed through during the day—­from her awakening almost at dawn to the silence of her bedroom at South Audley Street, until evening closed in upon her sitting in the private parlour of an hotel in the company of the Marquis of Walderhurst—­it would require too many pages to describe.

Her first realisation of the day brought with it the physical consciousness that her heart was thumping—­steadily thumping, which is quite a different matter from the ordinary beating—­at the realisation of what had come at last.  An event which a year ago the wildest dream could not have depicted for her was to-day an actual fact; a fortune such as she would have thought of with awe if it had befallen another woman, had befallen her unpretending self.  She passed her hand over her forehead and gasped as she thought of it.

“I hope I shall be able to get accustomed to it and not be a—­a disappointment,” she said.  “Oh!” with a great rising wave of a blush, “how good of him!  How can I ever—­”

She lived through the events of the day in a sort of dream within a dream.  When Jane Cupp brought her tea, she found herself involuntarily making a mental effort to try to look as if she was really awake.  Jane, who was an emotional creature, was inwardly so shaken by her feelings that she herself had stood outside the door a few moments biting her lips to keep them from trembling, before she dared entirely trust herself to come in.  Her hand was far from steady as she set down the tray.

“Good morning, Jane,” Emily said, by way of trying the sound of her voice.

“Good morning, miss,” Jane answered.  “It’s a beautiful morning, miss.  I hope—­you are very well?”

And then the day had begun.