Her mind plunged forward a few hours; and she laid a nervous hand on her heart beating so lightly and quickly under the lace of her nightgown as she thought of herself and Hugh standing at the flowered altar with rows and rows of massed curious faces behind. Seized by a sudden desire to reassure herself by a sight of her wedding frock, Jessica went quietly into the spare bedroom where frock, train and veil were spread out on the bed. She lifted the white sheet that protected them and looked at the shining gold tissue of frock and train, and the old ivory veil lent by her godmother; then suddenly picking them up she bore them off to her room. Of course it's desperately unlucky to try on your frock when it's quite finished--she argued with herself--but Hugh and I don't need luck and I'm not superstitious, and I would terribly like to make sure that it's as nice as I think it is. Taking off her nightgown she put on a new vest of yellow silk to match the frock, gold stockings and the pointed gold shoes that were to carry her up the aisle as Jessica Deane and down again as Jessica Greene. Just as she slipped the frock over her head, and struggled into the long close-fitting sleeves, a voice from the doorway said, "Darling, are you mad? I heard you bumping about and thought I'd better come and see if you were having a nerve storm or something." "Do come and help me, Drusilla, it's a frightfully difficult dress to get into. Pull it down all round will you; I just suddenly felt I had to put it on." Jessica's face, faintly flushed from her struggle, appeared out of a swirl of gold, and she blushed deeper with embarrassment as she confronted her sister's cool, critical gaze. "I suppose I am silly," she said defiantly, "In fact I know it's silly to be trying on my wedding dress at this unearthly hour in the morning, but brides are always allowed to behave idiotically on their wedding day." "Not this sort of idiocy, though," said Drusilla calmly, "tears and hysterics, and changing your mind at the last minute if you like, but not just pure vanity. I think that's all right now." Drusilla, who was kneeling to pull down the long skirt, leaned back on her heels and fingered its stiff folds. "It's lovely," she said, "I'm glad you had it long enough to touch your toes, and I'm glad it's a picture frock too. I know they're overdone, but they do suit us, we're just the type." She got up and stood in her green dressing-gown beside Jessica in her formal gold tissue. "We're absurdly alike," said Jessica looking in the mirror at their two faces, with the same broad foreheads, grey eyes, pointed chins, and backward springing yellow hair, "If anything, I think you're prettier than me." "I don't know," said Drusilla, complacently. "You vary more of course, but at your best I think you're a little better than me. Anyhow we'll both be all right to-day."