Nannie had shown much interest in the more obvious preparations for the ceremony, insisting that her gowns must be of such and such a price, that her bridesmaids outnumber those of her previously married friends, and that the affair as a whole be conducted with an _éclat_ which strained the resources of the Lockharts’ reduced finances to the uttermost. Nevertheless, on the day before the wedding she showed herself to the household in a state of extraordinary depression, wandering listlessly from room to room, striking discordant notes on the piano, and finally, having fled from Arthur’s presence, she was discovered face downwards on an old horsehair sofa in a violent paroxysm of weeping. Mrs. Lockhart, who had gone to seek her, was unable to elicit any explanation of her distress and called Merwent. But it was a mistake. Nannie turned on him with a storm of accusations. “You’ve wrecked my life! I don’t know what’s to become of me!” she wailed. “It’s not too late yet, Nannie,” Arthur answered. His voice was slightly unsteady and his eyes shone dangerously, but his manner was quiet. “Oh! Oh! How dare you! I was never so insulted in my life! You don’t care how much disgrace and humiliation you heap on me! It doesn’t make any difference to _you_ what they say about me!” Arthur was left alone. He sat on the sofa Nannie had quitted and held his head in his hands. After a few moments he rose and lighted a cigar. He was smoking when Mrs. Lockhart came in search of him a quarter of an hour later. She brought with her a glass of hot eggnog which she had made to comfort him. “It’s all the perfectly natural result of her high strung state,” remarked Mrs. Lockhart emphatically. “You must remember this is the last day of her girlhood,” she added in a significant manner. Arthur drank the eggnog and said nothing. * * * * * The next day, however, Nannie was radiant. Her mother and her cousin, Mrs. Sheldon, had helped to dress her. The wedding gown bore the mark of an expensive Louisville house, the bouquet was of white orchids, and the diamond pendant which Arthur had given her, though modestly small and fragile, glittered becomingly on her plump throat. Arthur entered the church gravely, his head bent, and even as Nannie came toward him at the chancel rail he did not lift his eyes. It was only as they stood side by side that he glanced at her face. Every trace of depression had vanished. She held her head high with the slightly insolent air that she had so often been told was aristocratic, and she really looked prettier than he had ever seen her. The recessional was played. As the bridal couple emerged from the church he turned slightly toward her. “Well, Nannie,” he whispered, smiling a little. They were close to the carriage steps. Arthur moved back to assist her. By some chance awkwardness his heel caught in a loop of satin. There was a tearing sound and Nannie flung herself from his grasp.