Lady Darinda was bitterly disappointed, and was not to be appeased until Tom consented to allow her to give us a party after our return from Switzerland, for we were going there on the bridal trip—going to see the glorious Alps once more, with their ever-changing hues, and the silvery lakes which sparkle in the sunshine like silver jewels on a bed of green. Oh! that lovely June morning, when the air was filled with the perfume of roses and violets, and not a cloud hung over Kensington. My wedding morning, and it comes back to me so freshly now, with the song of the robin in the tree by my window, the dewy sweetness of the air, the deep blue of the sky, the smiles, and tears, and kisses of Mrs. Trevyllan and the Misses Keith, the loud, decided talk of Lady Darinda, the quiet “God bless you, child, and make you happy,” of Archie’s mother when she was ushered into my room, for both ladies came to the house and went with me to the church, on the street just around the corner, where Tom met me, radiant and happy, and so handsome in his new suit “right from Paris,” and the old saucy, teasing smile in his eyes and about his mouth, as he looked down upon me and heard me promise to love, honor, and obey. There were no tears at my wedding, and I trust no sorry hearts, though Miss Lucy Elliston was there with her brother Charlie, mere lookers-on, and when the ceremony was over and we were going down the aisle, she confronted Tom laughingly, and said: “I meant to see you married whether you invited me or not.” To me she was very polite and affable, and I remembered what Tom had said of her sweet graciousness to those whom she thought her equals. I was that now, and she said something about seeing much of me when I returned to England; but she has not, and we shall never be more than mere calling acquaintances, with occasionally a dinner or a lunch. Lady Darinda gave the promised party, and I wore white satin and pearls, and the white boots Tom bought with the dozen, and Archie’s solitaire, too, for Tom told me about it one night at Giessbach, where we spent two delightful weeks, wandering through the woods and up and down the falls to the shores of the lake. “I did not wish to see it on your finger then,” he said, “when you were so sick and I feared you might die; but now that you have the wedding ring and are absolutely mine, I do not care, and you can wear it if you choose.” I did choose, for I had a weakness for diamonds, and this was a superb one, handsomer even than the one Tom gave me, which chagrined him, I think, a little.