Meanwhile, at Fordyce Castle, events, almost equal to a revolutionary movement in significance, had taken place. Like many another tyrant, Lady Fordyce, once bearded, began to lose the hold which custom had given her over the souls and bodies of her family. Sir Thomas had, for the first time, established another point of view in the house, and its inmates were now pleased and astonished to learn that they survived. That kind of knowledge is rarely wasted. One result of the new light was that Agneta was allowed to accompany Crauford to Edinburgh, where she was to try on her bridesmaid’s costume, report upon Mary’s, and make acquaintance with her future sister-in-law. The sight of Cecilia was a revelation to Agneta. The hide-bound standards of home had not prepared her to meet such a person on equal terms and she knew herself unable to do so creditably; the remembrance of Mary’s suggestion that they might ‘give her hints’ on the doing of her hair, and such-like details, made her feel inclined to gasp. Cecilia suggested something selected, complicated, altogether beyond her experience of life and outside her conception of it. Crauford, to whom this was evident, looked on triumphantly. ‘Well?’ he began, as they returned together to their lodging in George Street. ‘She is _quite_ different from what I expected, brother--quite different.’ ‘Did I not tell you so?’ he exclaimed. ‘You did--you did; but I did not understand. No more will Mary till she has seen her. I am afraid she will astonish Mama dreadfully.’ Fordyce chuckled. The thought of his mother had never made him chuckle before. But times were changing. ‘I shall write to Mary to-morrow,’ continued Agneta. ‘Crauford, I can quite understand about the gentleman who went to Spain.’ At this her brother’s smile faded, for the words made him think of the gentleman who might be returning from Spain. As soon as possible he must address himself to the task before him, namely, that of persuading Cecilia to make the wedding-day a fortnight earlier. At the risk of wearying the reader, who has followed this history through letters, fragments of letters, receipts of letters, and even suppression of letters, Agneta’s somewhat ungrammatical sentiments must be given. ‘MY DEAR MARY’ (she wrote),