Needless to add that to bring Selina to Pamela Pounce was almost the first of her desires as self-elected Fairy Godmother. Who but Pamela indeed, could set out a Bride so that her appearance on the great morning should be an event in the world of Fashion? Pamela under Kitty’s instructions--there never was such a combination of intellect! My Lady Kilcroney as she drove up through the bright sunshine from Windsor was filled with anticipations so agreeable and exciting that she had little thought to spare for the silence and irresponsiveness of the girl beside her. Selina had a delicious little countenance, even though she was sulking heavily; so when her glance strayed reflectively upon her my Lady found nothing in the contemplation to disturb her equanimity. It was the first time in its annals that the House of Mirabel beheld a carriage with the Royal liveries halt before its portals, and the flutter in its discreet walls was indescribable. Madame Mirabel herself catching sight of the scarlet splendour, through the first floor window, was seized with the trembles, and had to send Miss Clara Smithson for a glass of ratafia out of the back parlour cupboard before she could control her limbs sufficiently to walk downstairs. It was true that her immense agitation was promptly allayed by Miss Polly Popple, who put her head in at the door to say: “It’s only my Lady Kilcroney after all, what’s brought a pale Miss for a wedding hat. So don’t you put yourself about, Madame Mirabel, and Miss Pounce that cool it don’t look as if her opinions were what they ought to be, and gracious goodness where is the roll of silver ribbon came from Lyons? I laid it out of my hand, Clara, when I ran up a while ago about Mrs. Lafone’s bill, and him giving all sorts in the showroom. I wouldn’t be married to an elderly gentleman what’s miserly not for--where’s the silver ribbon for mercy’s sake? There’s the bell going after me like mad. Thank you, dear. Don’t put yourself about, Madame Mirabel--who ever told you it was the Queen! It’s only my Lady Kilcroney--drat it, there it goes again--I’m coming.” Pamela Pounce had caught a glimpse of Kitty’s dainty profile behind the misleading scarlet as the Queen’s barouche halted; and it was with her usual graceful self-composure that she swam forward to curtsy to her patroness. Four steps and a nicely graduated obeisance, with just an undulation which included my Lady’s companion, Pamela had a perfect command of the correct attitude. Then she waved her hand. “Chairs, Miss Popple. Pray be seated, ladies.” Then, with a pretty spring of alacrity in manner and voice, a most respectful yet delightfully confidential approach to familiarity: “And what can I show your Ladyship to-day?” cried she. “There’s the sweetest head, a twist of cherry tulle with a bunch of green grapes, just come from Paris--made for your Ladyship.”