She was determined, however, that she would not be the one to raise a difficulty. She was so unspeakably mortified by the new light yesterday’s events had thrown on Sir Geoffrey’s wooing that the idea of placing a barrier between herself and him, gave her keen satisfaction. That the possibility of her inheriting a fortune from her grandmother should have influenced his pursuit of her ever so slightly, wounded her vanity, that nerve-center of her being; and that he should have lent his countenance and help to a scheme that would give her, even nominally, to another man, no matter how brief or indefinite the tenure, dealt it an almost mortal blow. "He has yet a chance," she murmured. "He may have found on reflection that he can not bring himself to sacrifice me for the sake of a couple of thousand pounds’ worth of debts, and he may implore me to refrain for his sake. I might not be persuaded—one can never answer for oneself—but he would come out of it without dishonor." She mechanically smoothed a ribbon here and adjusted a flounce there and, half turning, tried to obtain a full view of her back in a glass two feet square. "’Tis provoking to be obliged to dress by guess-work," she commented. "If I were to marry old Aarons I could have three or four tire-women, and a dressing-room with the walls all covered with mirrors, so that I could see every side of myself at once. Pah! what is coming over me that I could even think of such a creature? What with marrying criminals and receiving offers from usurers the Viscountess Brooke must be coming to a pretty pass." With which she made a deep curtsey to as much as she could see of the Viscountess Brooke in the little looking-glass, and running out of the room met Miss Moffat coming up-stairs. "Hasten, Prue," she whispered breathlessly. "All is arranged. Sir Geoffrey has the ring and license in his pocket and a parson in the carriage. If the bride is ready—" She had entirely recovered from her brief spasm of reluctance and was as merry as a child and as reckless of consequences. "The bride is quite ready," cried Prue. "Nothing is lacking except—" "Except what?" inquired Peggie, as she broke off abruptly. "Oh! a trifle or two; nothing worth mentioning," laughed Prue, snatching up her cloak and hood and running lightly down-stairs, where Sir Geoffrey awaited them, not altogether at ease about his own part in the affair, and palpably relieved that Prue was in the best of spirits and inclined to treat the whole adventure as a frolic. "’Tis all your own fault—and Peggie’s," she laughed in her sauciest way. "If I were not the most good-natured person in the world I should scold you both soundly and refuse to make a fool of myself for your amusement." "Will you change places with me and let me take your chance?" cried Peggie. "It can not make much difference to Robin."