The modern Iphigenia has very little time for reflection. Poor Flo's life was a perpetual fever during those last days which were so difficult to count. Aunt Jane was never weary of discussing the bridal grandeurs, the bridesmaids' toilettes, the breakfast, the continental tour, the arrangements at Pevenshall. The only person whose equable spirits seemed entirely undisturbed by the excitement of this period was the bridegroom himself, who took matters as coolly as if he had gone through the same important crisis twenty times before, and had become thoroughly _blasé_ as to the emotions involved therein. He paid daily visits to the Fountains with laudable devotion, and he conversed with his future wife as much as it was in him to converse with any one, which was not very much; but he still clung fondly to the companionship of miniature bull-terriers and fawn-coloured pugs, and might be seen seated in the brougham that was too small for him, taking his airing in the park with a fawn-coloured pug on his knee. The time came very speedily when Flo found it easier to count the remaining hours of her unfettered girlhood than it had been to count the days. On the last day Mrs. Bushby went back to Russell Square to see to the finishing touches of her two elder girls' toilette, and to secure the Bloomsbury hair-dresser for the arrangement of their tresses on the all-important morning. These juvenile cousins were to swell the train of Miss Crawford's bridesmaids, and were to exhibit themselves in marvellous costumes of pale-blue glacé silk and tulle. But if Aunt Jane had deserted her post upon this last day, she was not the person to leave disorder or confusion behind her. Every arrangement had been completed before the matron's departure. The formidable deed of settlement, which secured Miss Crawford a yearly income that might have satisfied a countess's requirements as to pin-money, had been executed with all due ceremony. The handsome trunks for the continental tour, the gigantic packing-cases that were to be sent straight to Pevenshall, were labelled, and Florence looked with a vague sense of confusion at the addresses in which she was entitled "Mrs. Lobyer." The smallest details had been carefully supervised by the indefatigable matron before she departed to spend a busy day in the bosom of her own house-hold. "I am going away quite easy in my mind, dear," said Aunt Jane, when Florence escorted her to the porch; "for I don't think there has been an iota forgotten. You will see me again at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, with the children. And now, my love, be sure you take plenty of rest, for I want you to look your best and brightest to-morrow."