Before the day was over a little tragedy occurred, of which she was not only innocent, but unconscious. In the throng entering the church her pinks were swept from her breast, and in her excitement she did not observe her loss. Mr. Randolph, however, the groom's best man, noted carefully that she carried flowers, and that they were not his. Subsequently she, in reply to a question from him, admitted who had sent them, and though he made no remark, he slept little that night. Thus easily men suffer. Emily was dressed--but there, why should I attempt to describe what only a Worth could have furnished, and only wealth could afford? If you can imagine the most beautiful shade and quality of pearl-colored silk, and add to that the finest of lace, and to that the most marvellous profusion of tiny ribbon bows, then, as I hinted, recall that the genius of Worth designed the garment, perhaps you will imagine all that I could tell you. At least I may say that as the bride entered the church on the arm of that magnificent man, Mr. Van Rawlston, who, as her father's dearest friend, had been invited to take his place, every woman present took one lingering look at the woman and her gown, and then turned to her neighbor to express her admiration. Moreover, I will say that the sum of all that praise was not enough fully to describe Emily Remsen, who looked every inch "a royal queen," as Dora delightedly told every one for years afterward. But after the bridal party had passed, people naturally looked for the groom, and they wondered not to see him. Whispering occurred, and inquiries were made without satisfactory response. Some thought that there had been a mistake, and that the signal had been given to the bride and her friends too soon. It was an awkward situation, because of course, once having reached the altar, they could not turn and leave the church again. Consequently they simply stood and waited. Every one at length grew so nervous, that save for the organ, there gradually stole over the whole edifice a solemn silence. People were awed, and fearing at last as the minutes passed and still the groom did not appear, that something dreadful either had or was about to occur, they almost held their breaths. A few intimate friends went out on tip-toe, but the door leading to the vestry-room was guarded by a man in livery, who would say nothing but that no one could be admitted. Meanwhile an exciting scene, though a brief one, was being enacted behind that door. Just as the two parties were about to start on their way to the altar, a carriage had driven up furiously, and from it had alighted Mr. Barnes. He quickly entered the building, and went straightway into the vestry-room, brushing aside the man at the door. Once in the presence of the groom and his gentlemen attendants, he astonished them by saying: "Thank God, I am not too late." "Are you quite sure?" said Mr. Mitchel, with provoking calmness.