For lovely she was; there could not be two opinions on that point. A lilymaid, tall and graceful, without a trace of awkwardness or self consciousness; the exquisite complexion of the Elmores (they are a Devonshire family), warm, lovely rose on pearly white, no hint of brunette colouring; a smile which meant spring and love and other good things; and deep blue eyes reflecting the light of her smile. Never, not even during the raptures of early married life, have I known a month of such joyous exhilaration as that which followed Dorothy’s return, and I think her father would own as much. What a month it was! There was the pleasant earthly joy of going to town to get frocks for Dorothy; then the bewilderment of not being able to find out what suited her best. “Anything becomes her!” exclaims Mdme. la Modiste; “that figure, that complexion, may wear anything.” And then, the pleasure of entering a room--all eyes bent upon us in kindliness; our dear old friends hurrying forward to make much of the child; the deference and gentleness of her manner to these, and the warmth with which she was received by her compeers, both maidens and men; her grace in the dance; her simplicity in conversation; the perfection of her manner, which was not manner at all, but her own nature, in every situation. After all, she liked best to be at home; was more amiable and lovely with father and mother, brothers and sisters, than with the most fascinating strangers. Our good child! We had grown a little shy of speaking to her about the best things, but we knew she said her prayers: how else this outflow of sweet maiden life upon us all? I can imagine these ramblings of mine falling into the hands of a young pair whose life is in each other:--“Oh, only the outpourings of a doting mother!” and they toss the pages aside. But never believe, young people, that yours are the only ecstatic moments, yours the only experiences worth recording; wait and see. PART II These happy days had lasted for a month or more, when, one bright day in February, I remember it well, a little cloud arose. This is how it was: Dorothy had promised Elsie that she would drive her in the pony-carriage to Banford to choose a doll for May’s birthday. Now, it happened that I wanted the little carriage to take to my “Mothers” at Ditchling the clothing I had bought in London with their club money. My errand could not be deferred; it must be done that day or a week later. But I did not see why the children’s commission would not do as well to-morrow; and so I said, in good faith, as I was stepping into the carriage, hardly noticing the silence with which my remark was received.