She crossed the room, walking slowly, but at the door turned to look at the bride, on whose head Emma was already placing the orange-blossoms. “Doesn't she look pretty?” appealed the gratified matron-ministrant. “Yes; very pretty.--God bless her!” said Miss Valery, and kissed her on the forehead. Agatha quite started--the lips were so cold. “Well!” cried Emma Thornycroft, as the door closed, “I do wish, my dear, that little Missy had been grown up enough to be your bridesmaid instead of that very quiet ordinary-looking old maid. But, after all, the contrast will be the greater.” At nine o'clock the bride's half of the wedding-party were all safely assembled in Doctor Ianson's drawing-room, and everything promised to go off successfully--to which result Emma, now all in her glory, prided herself as having been the main contributor--and no doubt the kind, active, sensible little matron was right.--When, lo!--there came an unlucky _contretemps_. Major Harper, who of course was to give away the bride, sent word that on account of sudden business he could not possibly be at the church before eleven. At that hour he promised faithfully to meet his brother there. The note which he sent over was a very hurried and disjointed scrawl. This was all that the vexed bridegroom knew of the matter. So for two long hours Agatha sat in her wedding-dress, strangely quiet and silent--sometimes playing with the wreath of orange-blossoms which her lover had sent her, and which, being composed of natural flowers, according to a whim of Mr. Harper's, was already beginning to fade. Still she refused to put it aside, though the prudent Emma warned her it would be quite withered before she reached the church; “as was sure to be the case when people were so ridiculous as to wear real flowers.” The good soul went about, half scolding, half crying; hoping nothing might happen, or consoling herself with looking alternately at her pretty peach-coloured dress, and her “James,” who walked about, indulging in gay reminiscences of his own wedding, and looking the most comfortable specimen imaginable of a worthy middle-aged “family man.” Nevertheless, in spite of Mr. Thornycroft's efforts to cheer up the dreariness of the group, it was a great relief to everybody when, at the earliest reasonable time, the bride's small party started, and were at length assembled under the dark arches of Bloomsbury Church--darker than usual today, for the morning had gloomed over, and become close, hot, and thundery. Punctually at eleven, but not a minute before, which--Emma whispered--was certainly not quite courteous in a bridegroom, Mr. Harper came in. There was no one with him. “My brother not here?” he said in anxiety. Some one hinted that Major Harper was never very punctual.