And so, with London at its fairest and fullest, and the flower-barrows in the Circuses ablaze with tulips and narcissi and gladioli and escholtzsias, and Bond Street blocked with cars and taxis, and the Park on Sunday mornings for all the world as if rivers of confetti and black patches flowed slowly back and forth, all was made in readiness at Hallowell's. And so well had the secret been kept that it was only when Miss Umpleby happened one day to go into the room where the Bell was being unpacked that anybody in the place (outside the Executive) had the faintest notion of what was going on. But the Bell gave it away to Miss Umpleby. Mr. Miller had got the idea of the Bell from that foreign land, America. It was twelve feet high and composed entirely of artificial flowers; and while it had originally been intended that each bridal pair should hew its way out of it with a silver axe, bringing the souvenirs for its particular party out with it, that idea had been abandoned as impracticable, and the Bell opened with two flaps like a roc's egg at a pantomime instead. Miss Umpleby was an intelligent young woman; she had read of the device before in the newspapers; and she flew to Dorothy. "What are they up to in there, Lennie?" she demanded. "Mr. Miller isn't going to be married, is he?" Nobody would have known from Dorothy's face that she guessed that the secret had leaked out. "Mr. Miller get married? Mr. Miller is married. What are you talking about?" she asked. "That thing in the room at the end of the corridor there. I peeped in." "Then you'd no business to peep," Dorothy replied; and she denied all knowledge of what was toward. But presently she was sorry she had done so. Miss Umpleby, being under no obligation of secrecy, told the girls of the fashion studio what she had seen. Dorothy entered the studio as they were discussing it that same afternoon, and the hail of questions that greeted her almost blew her out of the room again. "Here's Lennie--she knows!" "Is it going to be like that New York one that was in the papers, Lennie?" "And who is it?" "It isn't you, Lennie, is it?" They paused for breath, and then went on. "And there's stacks and stacks of mock-orange in boxes----" "And lots of lace-paper----" "And they're doing the Central Hall downstairs all in white and silver." "_Do_ tell us!" they implored. But it was only some days later, when there was no longer any danger of betrayal, that Dorothy told Miss Umpleby, as a great secret. Miss Umpleby clutched at Dorothy's arm. "Really?" she cried excitedly. "Do you mean there'll be champagne, and flowers, and a cake, all for nothing?" "Well, you give Hallowells' an order, and they'll do as many as there's room for." "_Oh!_... How much is the order?" "What, do you mean that you'd----?"