"That’s right," commended her step-mother, with unusual alacrity. "And it won’t do a bit of harm to keep it up some afterward too, at least, till you get out to the dining-room, and then you can look into your plate a good deal. People will only think you are shy and modest, and say nice things about you for it." "I don’t care what people think," observed the girl. "Is that all?" "Oh, there’ll be things he’ll ask you—the minister, you know. The regular service. He’ll say a lot of things, and then ask you, ’Do you thus promise?’ And then you say, ’Yes,’ or you can just nod your head." "But suppose I don’t like to promise those things? Won’t he marry me?" The girl asked the question sharply, as if she saw a possibility of escape somewhere; but the older woman was so relieved that her task had been performed that she took little notice of the question. "Oh, yes," she answered carelessly, thinking the girl was anxious about saying her part at the right time. "If you don’t get it in, he’ll go right on, any way, and it’ll soon be over. You know Doctor Parker is very deaf, and he wouldn’t know whether you said yes or no. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I’ll go down, for I hear more carriages coming, and I’ll be needed. You’re sure you don’t want to see _him_ before the ceremony." "No," said Dawn, turning away from her with a quick gasp of her breath. Oh, if she need never see him, how happy she would be! "Well, then, I’ll go down. You be all ready when I call you to come. Now, mind you don’t once raise your eyes until the ceremony is over and you are out in the dining-room. Above all things, don’t look up at your husband even then. Nobody should see you look at each other. It makes them think you are foolish and silly." "I shall certainly not look at him," said Dawn with white lips. Then the step-mother went out of the room. Dawn fastened the door and went quickly over to the stand, where the roses had been unnoticed by Mrs. Van Rensselaer. Had she seen them, it would have been like her to throw them out of the window, lest the water should upset on the white satin frock. The girl bent over and breathed in their fragrance again, and then, carefully drying the stem on a towel, she slipped them up under her veil and fastened them upon her breast with a little pearl pin that had belonged to her mother. She went to her glass and viewed the effect through her veil, with a white, wan smile at the buds nestling among the beautiful lace. She would have one thing as she wanted it, any way: if she must be married, she would wear the flowers that had been given to her with a smile by somebody that understood. This was the last time she would have the right to wear another man’s flowers. After to-day she would belong to her husband, but until she did she would wear the only flowers that had ever meant anything to her.