"To be warped, unconsciously, by the magnetic influence of all around is the destiny, to a certain extent, of even the greatest souls."--OAKFIELD. June came, and Saidie Gartney. Not for flowers, or strawberries, merely; but for father's and mother's consent that, in a few weeks, when flowers and strawberries should have fully come, there should be a marriage feast made for her in the simple home, and she should go forth into the gay world again, the bride of a wealthy New York banker. Aunt Etherege and Saidie filled the house. With finery, with bustle, with important presence. Miss Gartney's engagement had been sudden; her marriage was to be speedy. Half a dozen seamstresses, and as many sewing machines, were busy in New York--hands, feet, and wheels--in making up the delicate draperies for the _trousseau_; and Madame A---- was frantic with the heap of elaborate dresses that was thrust upon her hands, and must be ready for the thirtieth. Mrs. Gartney and Faith had enough to do, to put the house and themselves in festival trim. Hendie was spoiled with having no lessons, and more toys and sugar plums than he knew what to do with. Mr. Selmore's comings and goings made special ebullitions, weekly, where was only a continuous lesser effervescence before. Mis' Battis had not been able to subside into an armchair since the last day of May. Faith found great favor in the eyes of her brother-in-law elect. He pronounced her a "_naive, piquante_ little person," and already there was talk of how pleasant it would be, to have her in Madison Square, and show her to the world. Faith said nothing to this, but in her heart she clung to Kinnicutt. Glory thought Miss Gartney wonderful. Even Mr. Armstrong spoke to Aunt Faith of the striking beauty of her elder niece. "I don't know how she _does_ look," Aunt Faith replied, with all her ancient gruffness. "I see a great show of flounces, and manners, and hair; but they don't look as if they all grew, natural. I can't make _her_ out, amongst all that. Now, _Faith's_ just Faith. You see her prettiness the minute you look at her, as you do a flower's." "There are not many like Miss Faith," replied Mr. Armstrong. "I never knew but one other who so wore the fresh, pure beauty of God's giving." His voice was low and quiet, and his eye looked afar, as he spoke. Glory went away, and sat down on the doorstone. There was a strange tumult at her heart. In the midst, a noble joy. About it, a disquietude, as of one who feels shut out--alone. "I don't know what ails me. I wonder if I ain't glad! Of course, it's nothing to me. I ain't in it. But it must be beautiful to be so! And to have such words said! _She_ don't know what a sight the minister thinks of her! I know. I knew before. It's beautiful--but I ain't in it. Only, I think I've got the feeling of it all. And I'm glad it's real, somewhere. Some way, I seem to have so much _here_, that never grows out into anything. Maybe I'd be beautiful if it did!"