“Why, Bet! What’s this, are you not glad? Bet, don’t be silly, you won’t miss me so _very_ much, you have plenty of friends, and perhaps, if you are good, I shall send for you some day to come out and live with us. Eh--why don’t you speak? I thought you would have been delighted!” “It is all so sudden,” faltered the domestic martyr in a strange voice, “and--and of course,” turning her white face bravely on her cousin, “I am glad you are so happy,” but she might have been a different girl, so changed was she. “Then look glad, my dear! and kiss me, my Queen Elizabeth. My! how icy cold you are this broiling afternoon, a walk will warm you.” Belle was far too pre-occupied with her own happiness to take serious notice of her cousin’s deadly pallor. “I want you to go into town on an errand for me at once. I have so much to do, and think of, and so very little time. I feel completely bewildered. First of all, I must write to those friends of George’s by this post on account of taking my passage. _He_ pays for it; is he not generous? And I am to send him a wire. Look here, do you think this will do?” producing a bit of paper on which was pencilled: “George Holroyd, Mangobad, India. Yes, coming.” “Six words at four shillings and six-pence a word, no need to put who it is from. _He_ knows,” and she laughed triumphantly. “It will come to one pound seven; here is the family purse; will you send it at once, and write it on the proper office form?” “Yes,” responded Betty with an effort, her throat felt so hard and dry. “Now don’t be so dull and grumpy, Bet! Do you think distance will make any difference to me? Do you think I shall ever forget you? I shall miss you frightfully. Who will bring me my tea, spell my notes, and help me to do up my dresses, and pack my clothes? When you are up the street you might run into Dooley’s and tell them they are not to do a stitch of plain work for any one but me for the next month. I will go in to-morrow and speak to them myself.” “Very well,” said her listener mechanically. “Now I must run and write to these Calvert people, and to lots of others, and give them ample time to forward desirable wedding presents. To intimate friends I shall send round a list of what I require. I hope Miss Dopping will give me something good, _you_ might suggest a handsome dressing bag--fitted, of course.” “And won’t you write to Mrs. Malone?” “Not I,” scornfully. “She can wait. No doubt she has had an inkling of this all along, and that was why she was always so very cool to me. _You_ are her favourite, Betty; only for supporting her and Cuckoo, and her good-for-nothing son, poor George would have married me a year ago. I believe he made them over every penny of his private means; however, they have seen the last of _our_ money.” Betty noted the plural, and how glibly it came tripping off the bride-elect’s lips.