After all, what did that or anything else matter? Certainly not enough to invoke her father’s wrath upon her at this most trying moment of her life. She drew the mass of beautiful curls up on her head, fastening them with a large tortoise-shell comb which had been her mother’s and was treasured by the young girl. The ends of the curls fell in a little shower over the back of the comb, making a lovely effect. The step-mother thought it far too careless and mussy-looking, and frowned at the sweet, artistic head, but Dawn gave it a pat here and there and would have no more to say about it. With her own hands, she arranged the filmy veil. She would not have her step-mother’s assistance. Mrs. Van Rensselaer stood by, watching the quick, assured way in which the young bride draped the delicate fabric. The elder woman was half jealous of the girl’s deftness. "Put on your gloves, and you’ll do very nicely, though I must say I’d rather see your hair smooth for once. But the veil hides the frowsiness. Now, is there anything you’d like to know about what you’ve got to do?" Dawn looked at her step-mother in horror. "I haven’t got to do anything, have I?" There was genuine distress in her voice. She had been so absorbed in the great thought of the result of this act that the ceremony itself, about which so many girls worry, had not entered into her mind in the least. "Well," said Mrs. Van Rensselaer—there was satisfaction in her voice, for Dawn was unconsciously making it easier for her than she had dared to hope—"there isn’t much, of course. Nothing but to keep your eyes down and walk in and say yes. It’s all very simple. The main thing is never to look up. It is counted very bad manners to look up. A bride who raises her eyes during the ceremony, or before, is called very bold and—and immodest!" The step-mother’s voice sounded queer to herself, and she picked at an invisible thread on her sleeve. This was the first out-and-out bald lie she had ever told in her life, though she had made many a misleading statement; but that, of course, to a woman with a conscience, was a very different thing. This woman thought she had a conscience, and she was excusing her present action on the ground of necessity, and the circumstances. "She’s getting a far better husband every way, anyhow, and it isn’t as if she was much attached to the other man. One can see she was afraid of him. I’m really doing her a service, and she’ll thank me when she finds it out." This was what she told her conscience now, and went on with her advice to Dawn. "You want to walk downstairs very slowly, with your eyes on the hem of your frock. You mustn’t look up for anything." "I’m sure I don’t know what I should want to look up for," said Dawn coldly. "I’d much rather look down. I’m glad it’s quite polite to do so."