The two girls were in the little sitting-room of the model lodgings, putting the finishing touches to the white cashmere wedding-dress which Sigrid had cut out and made for herself during the quiet days they had spent at Rowan Tree House. Every one entered most heartily into all the busy preparations, and Sigrid could not help thinking to herself that the best proof that trouble had not spoiled or soured the lives either of Cecil or Frithiof lay in their keen enjoyment of other people’s happiness. The wedding was to be extremely quiet. Early in the morning, when Cecil went to see if she could be of any use, she found the bride-elect in her usual black dress and her housekeeping apron of brown holland, busily packing Frithiof’s portmanteau. “Oh, let me do it for you,” she said. “The idea of your toiling away to-day just as if you were not going to be married!” Sigrid laughed merrily. “Must brides sit and do nothing until the ceremony?” she asked. “If so, I am sorry for them; I couldn’t sit still if I were to try. How glad I am to think Frithiof and Swanhild will be at Rowan Tree House while we are away! I should never have had a moment’s peace if I had left them here, for Swanhild is, after all, only a child. It is so good of Mrs. Boniface to have asked them.” “Since you are taking Roy away from us, I think it is the least you could do,” said Cecil, laughing. “It will be such a help to have them this evening, for otherwise we should all be feeling very flat, I know.” “And we shall be on our way to the Riviera,” said Sigrid, pausing for a few minutes in her busy preparations; a dreamy look came into her clear, practical eyes, and she let her head rest against the side of the bed. “Sometimes, do you know,” she exclaimed, “I can’t believe this is all real, I think I am just imagining it all, and that I shall wake up presently and find myself playing the Myosotis waltz at the academy—it was always such a good tune to dream to.” “Wait,” said Cecil; “does this make it feel more real,” and hastily going into the outer room she returned bearing the lovely wedding bouquet which Roy had sent. “Lilies of the valley!” exclaimed Sigrid. “Oh, how exquisite! And myrtle and eucharist lilies—it is the most beautiful bouquet I ever saw.” “Don’t you think it is time you were dressing,” said Cecil. “Come, sit down and let me do your hair for you while you enjoy your flowers.” “But Swanhild’s packing—I don’t think it is quite finished.” “Never mind, I will come back this afternoon with her and finish everything; you must let us help you a little just for once.” And then, as she brushed out the long, golden hair, she thought how few brides showed Sigrid’s wonderful unselfishness and care for others, and somehow wished that Roy could have seen her just as she was, in her working-day apron, too full of household arrangements to spend much time over her own toilet.