Surrounded by obsequious tradesmen, anxious to atone for their late importunities by reckless offers of unlimited credit to the reinstated favorite, Prue was in her element. Over her graceful shoulders a chattering, little Frenchwoman draped a filmy scarf, while gloves and ribbons, sacks and "heads," silken hose and rainbow stuffs were spread before her on every side and half-a-dozen voices, raised in laudation of these and other wares too numerous to mention, filled the air with confusion. Barbara Sweeting, as high-priestess of fashion, criticized, selected, condemned and approved, while Lady Drumloch, installed on her favorite sofa, half-buried in her choicest cashmeres, voiced an occasional opinion in her crisp, decisive way, to which Prue gave more than usual heed. "A fair day to you, ladies!" cried Sir Geoffrey. "’I faith, I feel like a stag-beetle among the butterflies." He bent over Prue as though examining a trinket in her hand. "Are you choosing the nuptial garments, dearest?" he whispered. "May I have a voice in the selection?" "What do you think of this?" she replied, indicating a skirt ruffled to the waist and surmounted by full paniers of brocade stiff with silver embroidery. "’Tis the latest from France and vastly becoming to a slender shape. I shall be glad of advice as I have but little time for selection. The queen’s physicians have hurried her off to Tunbridge and she is even now on the road. The royal command to attend her there without loss of time reached me but an hour ago, and to-morrow I must follow post-haste, so I am just gathering a few necessaries. Barbara, would you decide on that blue train or do you think the pink stripe will go better with the silver-gray?" "What are you going to do with that lace flounce?" interposed Peggie. "You ought to trim the silver brocade with it; it is too lovely for a petticoat." "Lady Drumloch’s lace!" cried Barbara, pouncing on it with cries of ecstasy. "I protest ’tis the finest I ever beheld! You should keep it for your wedding-dress, Prue." Prue glanced at her grandmother, and the slight smile that passed between them caused Sir Geoffrey an uneasy thrill, though he could not have explained why. "I wish Prue to look her best," said the old lady. "It is a great opportunity for her to be in waiting upon the queen at this particular time. Her Majesty is to be kept very quiet on account of her gout and few people will have access to her; Prue may be fortunate enough to become indispensable, and the queen can be very indulgent to those who win her favor." "And after Tunbridge there will be a summer at Windsor, I hope," said Prue, "and mayhap a few weeks at Bath—and who can tell what may happen before next winter?"