"I was wrong, of course," confesses Harriet, remorsefully. Such attachment, being rare, should be considered beautiful. I apologize to your Martha. But I was thinking, not of her, darling but of you. I did so dread she would excite you over much, and to-morrow will be such a trying day. Now, lie back again, dear, and keep silence while we chat to you. --- It is still the morning of my second wedding day, though a few minutes since I heard some clock chime the quarter to twelve. Habited in the darkest gown my wardrobe can produce, I go downstairs slowly, as in a dream, to the drawing-room, where I find them all assembled before me. They all glance at me as I enter, and seem relieved on perceiving the total lack of nervousness exhibited by my features. Indeed, it occurs even to myself that I am the only one present thoroughly unimpressed. Marmaduke is looking pale but composed, George Ashurst painfully anxious; but that is only what might be expected of him. The others are all more or less evidently desirous of getting it over in a hurry, and appearing at their ease, in which they fail. The priest, a stranger to me, seems curious. Bebe comes forward, and taking my hand, leads me before the impromptu altar. Marmaduke steps to my side, and his old college chum commences the service. I have obstinately refused to be remarried by the vicar at home. Bebe dexterously draws off the wedding ring--that has never yet left my finger since it was first placed there--and thoughtfully hands it to 'Duke. With a shudder he flings it from him into the glowing fire, where it vanishes forever with a faint tinkling noise. "Not that," he mutters, in a low tone, and brings out a new one from his pocket. In a clear voice utterly devoid of emotion, I answer all the responses. Marmaduke's voice shakes a good deal, and I turn and look at him surprised. He has had my hand in a warm, close clasp from the moment the prayer-book was opened, and now, too, I notice how he trembles as for the second time he binds me to him with the little golden, emblem of eternity. Although their voices reach my outward ears, although I myself say what is required of me with perfect calmness, I do not really hear or heed one word of the ceremony. Thoughts, frivolous and unworthy of the solemnity of the occasion, flit through my brain. I cannot fix my attention on any one thing. I feel no desire to do so. I wonder vaguely whether, were a widow going to be married again, she would feel as indifferent as I do; then I recollect how, in her case, the bridegroom at least would be a new feature, which would, without doubt, add a little zest to the affair. How pretty Dora is looking in that navy blue silk and cashmere costume--wonderfully pretty and timid! but then everything always did become Dora. How nervous that good George appears, and how ridiculously red! Why, he might almost be painted.