The next day dawned auspiciously in Scourby, a manufacturing town at the head of Darentdale, where the wedding was to take place. Mrs. Wythburn’s face was a little tearful on that morning, for Mary was her only child, and the mother’s heart was full of solicitude. But with the self-repression characteristic of mothers she was prepared to put her own feelings on one side, and meet her friends with smiles as bright as she could make them. The father of the bride did not pretend to smile at all, and made no secret of his sentiments in regard to weddings. He had been in a chronic state of grumblement since the day was fixed. “They say that a man’s house is his castle; mine is much more like a fancy fair,” he said. “People have been coming in at all my doors as if they had a right; the only person who has seemed to have no right to be upon the premises is myself. I shall be glad when the fuss is over.” His wife was not disconcerted by this pretence at ill-temper, for she knew how much—or, rather, how little—it meant; and was assured that her husband would be genial enough when the time arrived for his after-breakfast speech. For she knew that Mr. Wythburn would not on any account have had things other than they were, since he had long wished to see his daughter married to his oldest neighbour. Some of Mary’s friends thought it a pity. The two were so entirely different that it was doubtful if they had any tastes or feelings in common. Alfred Greenholme was inactive, self-indulgent, unambitious. Everything was too great an exertion for him. He never wanted even to play at tennis, nor to dance at an evening party. “There was no harm in him,” people said. “He was a good-natured sort of fellow enough;” but he positively seemed to care for nothing but lounging about and smoking cigars. But Mary Wythburn was full of intense, vivid life. She had an enormous capacity for work, and she used this capacity to the utmost. Quiet, and even timid, in manner, she had such perfect control over herself that few guessed how keen was her desire to know and to do. She was an exceedingly clever girl, and had availed herself to the utmost of all the educational advantages which the modern spirit of fairness has granted to women, and at school, college, and university she had gained distinctions and carried off prizes. Her father and mother had not hindered her; but she knew that though they could not help feeling a little proud of her successes, they did not altogether approve of her. They had her portrait taken in the college cap and gown which became her so well; and they said that, since the letters which she had the right to put after her name meant something, she ought to use them; but they both considered it a little unwomanly to be too clever, and wished that she would settle down and be married.