“Well, I don’t love Stubbs--(he asked me this morning to call him _Peter_, but I _couldn’t_, I really _couldn’t_)--and I don’t respect him particularly, and I certainly don’t consider his intellect superior to mine, but I intend to marry him all the same. Love and respect! Good heavens, Zai! Such things are all very well in their way, but you don’t suppose that I should think of balancing them with that lovely suite from Jackson and Graham’s? Why, those white and gold chairs, with the crests carved on the backs, are ten times more worth having than all that fiddle-faddle of love and respect!” Zai does not answer. She knows, perhaps, that some of Trixy’s notions are unanswerable, and is simply conscious of the fact that she rather envies her her sentiments. “And what’s the good of having _point de Venise_ on my dress for the gardeners and stable boys to gape at?” Trixy goes on, peevishly. “I think it is too bad to be done out of everything like this! I had made up my mind to have a fine wedding, all the good-looking men in town, a lot of bridesmaids, and--why, what’s the matter, Zai?” The matter is that Zai has allowed a sob to break in on her talk. “Nothing,” she says, in a low voice; “only your speaking of bridesmaids made me think of _Baby_!” “You were always a wet blanket, Zai. Whenever one is trying to look on the bright side of things, you are sure to say something horrible,” Trixy replies, in a tone of martyrdom. “_I_ think of Baby too; but I drive away the thought because it is my bounden duty. Mamma says I’m not to make myself ugly with crying and fretting, and, Zai, do you know, I don’t think there’s much to grieve about Baby. _She’s escaped marrying a--Mr. Stubbs!_” It strikes Zai again that Trixy’s ideas are a little out of the way, and wiping her tears, she takes up a book. “I say Zai! I want to tell you something,” Trixy announces suddenly, in a half whisper. “It’s a secret, a dead secret, and you will have to swear you will keep it.” “I promise,” Zai answers quietly, wondering what important thing is to be divulged, as Trixy crosses the room and comes close up to her. “No, no! you must swear.” “I never swear; but my promise holds as good.” “Well, then, listen. Gabrielle told me this morning that there is something between you and Lord Delaval.” “Well, if there is, what of it?” “Only that Gabrielle went down on her knees on the damp grass, and swore (she swears awfully, you know) that if he married you, she would destroy herself, body and soul!” “I am sure she is welcome to him if she wants him so very much,” Zai flashes impetuously; “but I _must_ say that if Gabrielle really fancies he is going to be her brother-in-law, she ought to curb her feelings for him!” Trixy opens her big blue eyes wide with amazement. “You don’t mean to tell me, Zai, that there is the very least bit of foundation for Gabrielle’s fancies?”