"Oh, Jessica, you've torn it. I knew perfectly well something would happen if you got so excited. Now I'll have to fetch Marchmont to mend it." Mrs. Deane hurried away, and Mr. Deane looked guiltily at Jessica. "I think I'd better get out of this," he said. "It's no place for me. But just tell me, my dear, you're quite happy, aren't you?" "Of course I am, Daddy; how do you mean exactly?" Mr. Deane cleared his throat nervously. "I don't mean anything, Jessica. Only if you have any doubts or worries or anything, far better call it off now, than go on with it." He spoke fiercely, and with his eyes averted. Heedless of her already torn frock Jessica flung her arms round his neck. "You're too sweet, darling," she said. "I know it would kill you to have your daughter jib at the altar. It really is sweet of you to suggest it. But I'm all right, Daddy. For once in my life I'm quite sure, with no after-thought and no terrors. Hugh's the proper person for me to belong to. You'd better go now; they're coming to mend me." She stood still and quiet while the train was readjusted, and Mrs. Deane, looking at the steady glow of colour in her cheeks, felt relieved and contented. It seemed only a moment till Drusilla came back wearing her gold bridesmaid's dress with a heavy mediæval green girdle falling in two strands to the ground. She was carrying a bouquet of tawny chrysanthemums and a sheaf of faintly green speckled orchids for Jessica. "Here's your exotic bouquet, my child," she said. "And I think it's far too macabre for a bride, but I suppose you like it. And here are the chicken sandwiches," she added as a maid entered with a tray. Another moment for eating the sandwiches, and then a kiss from her mother, a kiss from Drusilla, and they were gone to Jessica's wedding, leaving the house very still, as if all life in it were suspended. Jessica came slowly downstairs to the drawing-room to find her father. He was waiting for her at the door. "Come in and sit down," he advised, "We ought to give them fully five minutes start. That will be enough." He looked anxiously at his watch and appraisingly at Jessica. "Not nervous, are you dear? You look very nice indeed, and there's nothing to be nervous about; it's quite plain sailing now." He patted her hand fussily, and pulled out his watch again. Jessica smiled. "No, I'm not," she said. "Not a scrap. But you are. You've looked at your watch twice in the last minute." "Nonsense; I'm not at all nervous. I've done all this before. It's not so very long since I gave Marjorie away, you know." "But that was different, wasn't it, Daddy?" Jessica insinuated softly. Mr. Deane cleared his throat. "Well, of course, Marjorie was much older and then she had been engaged a long time and--yes, well, it was a little different," he finished lamely. "You know quite well what I meant, darling; you're just being evasive. I meant we were rather special, you and I."