'Oh, I'm ill, I'm ill,' he said; 'and it was quite my own fault. I sat outside this morning without a rug, and I knew I was catching a chill. And I didn't care. You see, you didn't care. You never asked me what the doctor's report was this morning, and I--I determined not to care either. I am sorry; I shouldn't have said that.' Sybil's hand trembled as she arranged the bedclothes, which he had thrown off. 'I was a brute,' said she, 'and----' She paused. 'Charlie, you must get well,' she cried suddenly. He lay quite still a moment, with breath coming quickly. 'You said that as if you cared,' he said. CHAPTER XIV The marriage of Bertie Keynes and Amelie was to be celebrated at New York towards the end of February, and bade fair to be the _comble_ up to date (not even excepting the famous pearl fishery) of Mrs. Palmer's social successes. It was to take place in St. Luke's Church, Fifth Avenue, and for days beforehand the ordinary services had been altogether suspended, because the church had to be made fit to be the theatre of the ceremony, and a perfect army of furniture-men, upholsterers, carpenters, and plumbers occupied it. The ordinary square-backed wooden pews were removed from the body of the church, which was carpeted from wall to wall with purple felt, and rows of _fauteuils_ in scarlet morocco, like the stalls of an opera-house, occupied their places. To complete the resemblance, each chair was marked with its particular number in its own row, and the occupants, who gave up their tickets at the church door, retaining only the tallies, were shown to their places, where they found in each chair a copy of the service printed on vellum and bound by Riviere, by scarlet-coated footmen. Similarly, the free seats in the gallery were cleared out in order to make room for the very magnificent orchestra, which beguiled the hours of waiting for the guests with inspiriting and purely secular pieces, and during the choral part of the service accompanied the choir.