‘My dear child, do you suppose I have lived all these years without cuffs and collars, and handkerchiefs?’ ‘Laura, unless you have everything new you might just as well not be married at all.’ ‘Then you may consider my marriage no marriage, for I am not troubling myself about new things.’ ‘Give me carte blanche and leave everything to me. What is the use of my sacrificing Brighton just when it was more than too enchanting, unless I can be of some use to you?’ ‘Well, Celia, in order that you may not be unhappy, I will give you permission to review my wardrobe, and if you find an alarming dearth of collars and handkerchiefs I’ll drive you to Beechampton in the pony carriage, and you shall buy whatever you think proper.’ ‘Beechampton is hideously behind the age, disgustingly _démodé_, and your things ought to be in the latest style. I’ll look through the advertisements in the _Queen_, and send to London for patterns. It is no use having new things if they are not in the newest fashion. One does not wear out one’s cuffs and collars--they go out.’ ‘You shall have carte blanche, dear, if it will atone for the loss of Brighton.’ ‘My dearest girl, you know I would not desert you at such a crisis of your life for forty Brightons,’ cried Celia, who had lofty ideas about friendship; ‘and now about your wedding gown? That is the most important point of all.’ ‘It is ordered.’ ‘You did not mention it just now.’ ‘Did I not? I am going to be married in one of the gowns I ordered for travelling, a mixture of grey silk and velvet, the jacket trimmed with chinchilla. I think it will be very handsome.’ Celia fell back in her chair as if she were going to faint. ‘No wedding gown!’ she cried; ‘no trousseau, and no wedding gown! This is indeed an ill-omened marriage! Well may poor Edward talk.’ Laura flushed indignantly at this last sentence. ‘Pray what has your brother been saying against my marriage?’ she asked, haughtily. ‘Well, dear, you cannot expect him to feel particularly pleasant about it, knowing--as you must know--how he has gone on doting upon you, and hoping against hope, for the last three years. I don’t want to make you unhappy, but I must confess that Edward has a very bad opinion of Mr. Treverton.’ ‘I daresay Mr. Treverton will manage to exist without Edward’s good opinion.’ ‘He thinks there is something so utterly mysterious in his conduct--something insulting to you in the fact of his holding himself aloof so long, and then coming back at the last moment, just in time to secure the estate!’ ‘I am the best judge of Mr. Treverton’s conduct,’ answered Laura, deeply wounded. ‘If I can trust him other people may spare themselves the trouble of speculating upon his motives.’ ‘And you can trust him?’ asked Celia, anxiously. ‘With all my heart and soul.’ ‘Then have a proper wedding gown,’ exclaimed Celia, as if the whole question of bliss or woe were involved in that one detail.