And what naturally should have been her first thoughts?  That she had ruthlessly refused a man who, as she now knew, loved her well, and for whom she had always felt at any rate the warmest friendship?  Such were not her thoughts, nor were they in any way akin to this.  They ran back instantly to years gone by,—­over long years, as her few years were counted, and settled themselves on certain halcyon days, in which she had dreamed that he had loved her, and had fancied that she had loved him.  How she had schooled herself for those days since that, and taught herself to know that her thoughts had been over-bold!  And now it had all come round.  The only man that she had ever liked had loved her.  Then there came to her a memory of a certain day, in which she had been almost proud to think that Crosbie had admired her, in which she had almost hoped that it might be so; and as she thought of this she blushed, and struck her foot twice upon the floor.  “Dear Lily,” she said to herself—­“poor Lily!” But the feeling which induced her then to think of her sister had had no relation to that which had first brought Crosbie into her mind.

And this man had loved her through it all,—­this priceless, peerless man,—­this man who was as true to the backbone as that other man had shown himself to be false; who was as sound as the other man had proved himself to be rotten.  A smile came across her face as she sat looking at the fire, thinking of this.  A man had loved her, whose love was worth possessing.  She hardly remembered whether or no she had refused him or accepted him.  She hardly asked herself what she would do.  As to all that it was necessary that she should have many thoughts, but the necessity did not press upon her quite immediately.  For the present, at any rate, she might sit and triumph;—­and thus triumphant she sat there till the old nurse came in and told her that her mother was waiting for her below.

CHAPTER XL

Preparations for the Wedding

The fourteenth of February was finally settled as the day on which Mr Crosbie was to be made the happiest of men.  A later day had been at first named, the twenty-seventh or twenty-eighth having been suggested as an improvement over the first week in March; but Lady Amelia had been frightened by Crosbie’s behaviour on that Sunday evening, and had made the countess understand that there should be no unnecessary delay.  “He doesn’t scruple at that kind of thing,” Lady Amelia had said in one of her letters, showing perhaps less trust in the potency of her own rank than might have been expected from her.  The countess, however, had agreed with her, and when Crosbie received from his mother-in-law a very affectionate epistle, setting forth all the reasons which would make the fourteenth so much more convenient a day than the twenty-eighth, he was unable to invent an excuse for not being made happy a fortnight earlier than the time named in the bargain.  His