“Yes,” her husband replied, laughingly, “and I wish to show them that I have chosen a wife worth marrying! I want you to look especially elegant to-night. Do you need anything to embellish your toilet?” Brownie laughed merrily at this question, and taking him by the arm, led him to her dressing-room, where, throwing open the door of one of the enormous wardrobes, she commanded him to look and choose for himself what he would have her wear. “My darling,” exclaimed Adrian, as she swept into the drawing-room a little later, “how beautiful you are, and how proud I am of you!” and he held out his arms as if about to clasp her to him; but drawing suddenly back, he added: “But no; I will not crush a single bud, nor disarrange one of those perfect folds.” “Don’t be foolish, dear,” Brownie replied, nestling close to him, and clasping her own arms around his neck; “the dress is nothing to me except as it pleases you, and makes me look more lovable in your eyes; besides, I do not wish to look too new.” Adrian’s marriage—or rather the news of it—had spread like wildfire among the _élite_ of London, and many were the comments and sneers poured upon the unknown American behind her back for having been so successful in “taking him in.” Comparatively little was really known of her, or their marriage, excepting that it had been very sudden and quiet, and without the sanctioning presence of Lord and Lady Dunforth. Contrary to Brownie’s surmise, the report of her sudden accession to wealth and position had not yet become very generally known, and Mrs. Grundy was exceedingly curious to behold this _rara avis_ which had created such an unexpected commotion in polite circles. When at length “Mr. Dredmond and lady” were announced at Manchester House, there was a sudden hush, a stretching of necks—yes, even in that noble crowd, for human nature is the same the world over—and all eyes were turned toward the door as they entered. Brownie knew that she was the cynosure of all eyes, and although her heart beat rather more quickly than usual, not a muscle of her pure, patrician face quivered as they threaded their way through the crowd. It was a moment of triumph to her idolizing husband when she was presented to the Marquis and Marchioness of Hertford, and greeted them with graceful yet perfect self-possession, while the manner of her salutation was remarked by hundreds, and they were dumb with surprise and admiration at both her exceeding beauty and grace. Could this be a governess—a girl of questionable character and birth—a plebeian American? Lord and Lady Dunforth were both present, and had been gratified witnesses of the presentation, and both were as proud of Adrian and his peerless bride as if they had been first and foremost in sanctioning the marriage, instead of so bitterly opposing it.