Mrs. Hallam had rather naturally planned that the wedding should take place in Devonshire; but the bridegroom had been so hideously shocked, and Helena thought a London wedding so much better "fun," that Mrs. Hallam, already feeling nobody, had given in to them with a weak smile. She did not mind where it took place, so long as they were happy and it was really for the best. Besides, she had a brother who lived in a big house in Langham Place. He always had been very mean, and was a bachelor, and it was time altogether that he did something for the family.... On the last night, however, before the wedding-day, she tuned herself at bedtime to a final effort. She was sad and depressed: they had talked long downstairs; her own instinct would have been to cry or go to sleep; but she decided that, for her own later peace of mind if for no higher motive, she must do something far less pleasant. So along she went to the second-best spare-room in the mean brother's house. "Helena dear," she said, to meet her daughter's startled look, "I've come along, although we've had our talk downstairs, because I feel I can't sleep till I have asked you a question." Helena was not greatly reassured. She had not really understood a lot of what her mother had sobbed out to her downstairs, and now when she had thought it all over and had been feeling very sorry for the poor lonely dear, there was to be another question! "Why, what?" she asked, trying to put away unseen her going-away hat, which she had been trying on. She was afraid her mother might think it unfeeling. "A very important question," answered Mrs. Hallam, dropping frailly on the sofa. "And I'm afraid you may think it an extraordinary one. Do you really love Hubert? Do you really want to marry him?" Helena let go of the hat, which fell very gently on the floor beside the dressing-table; then she went across and put her arms around her mother. "Why, you curious old dear," she said. "What on earth makes you ask that? I _do_ call it extraordinary!" And she laughed. But her mother was serious. "Don't think it would be wrong or wicked to say no if you do not. It would be very wicked not to...." She paused, and as Helena said nothing, she went on; "You see, darling child, I feel responsible. You are so young, and Mr. Brett being almost the first man you ever spoke to, except just at At Homes and so on---- It's not too late, my dear girl, although perhaps I should have spoken sooner if I could have brought myself to it. Girls often see more clearly at the last. We can easily announce that the wedding is postponed, and then you could come down home for a few months and see--if you're not sure----" She spoke almost keenly by now, questioning with a hope quite pathetic. The world for her held nothing but her daughter. In Helena, however, the words raised a depressing vision.