"And then the service begins. I read it once. Parts of it I shall never forget. In the church there are stacks of white flowers and lilies. It’s all so quiet and awful—only the clergyman’s voice.... I feel choking and I can’t see because my eyes are full of tears.... There _must_ be sacred love. I feel it all through me.... And when it’s over I’m crying. Sometimes if I’m not asleep I go on with the honeymoon. I see fields and blue sky and a homey-looking house—soft red brick—with a green lawn and cedar trees on it. Their branches stretch out to me like loving arms. I see flowers everywhere. I think it’s a sort of farm, because there are cows and wondering-eyed calves with soft slobbery noses and curly, wet, rough tongues; and lambs with baby faces to make pets of; and clucking chickens and stupid broody hens. I’d be so kind to them...." She drew a long breath. The dream was broken. "Fred would say I’m dotty," she finished apologetically. "Do you know," said Chalfont, "your thoughts are like dainty butterflies." "There’s a maggot in my brain, I expect," was her dry rejoinder, dispelling her romantic mood. Mitchell came in to say that a messenger had arrived from the bank. Chalfont excused himself and left the room. A minute or two later he came back and took Maggy into another room. On one of its tables stood two mahogany boxes. Unlocking them he lifted the lids and moved aside for her to see. "I think you’ll find what you want here," he said. The top tray of one of the boxes was studded with fine rings; the other held necklaces and bracelets—diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls. Underneath, when he removed the trays, Maggy’s eyes opened wide at a magnificent tiara and other gemmed ornaments. "Do they _all_ belong to you?" she gasped. "Yes, in a sense. They were my mother’s. They have belonged to many a Lady Chalfont in the past." "Then if you marry they will belong to your wife?" "If I marry." A mischievous look came into Maggy’s face. "I don’t suppose the future Lady Chalfont would like to see Miss Maggy Delamere taking her pick," she said. She became serious again. "I shan’t sleep comfortably while I have them." "I shall," smiled Chalfont. "Will you choose what you want?" Maggy made a discreet choice, avoiding the tiara and the more splendid objects much as she would have liked to see them on Alexandra. Chalfont put the jewels into a smaller case for her. When he had done that he handed her a little pendant, a dainty thing of small diamonds with a ruby center. "How do you like that?" he asked. "It’s sweet," said Maggy, holding it up for inspection. "I would like you to keep it." "I would like to keep it, too. But"—she handed it back—"I can’t take it." "My dear child, why not? It’s only a little thing." She shook her head.