“He makes me so ashamed,” said Lizzie. “I didn’t know where to look. He’s been at it ever since you’ve been away, saying as how you would want to back out; and he made me quite miserable, he did.” The baby-blue eyes filled with tears. Goddard consoled her as best he could. “There, there, don’t cry,” he said, patting her shoulder with his great hand. “The banns will be put up next Sunday, as I said; and three weeks won’t be long, you know; and then it will all be over, and we’ll start fair. Leave those things alone for the present, and let us talk about it.” So they sat, side by side, over the fire, and spoke of the near future. They would live in lodgings until they could find a house to suit them. They discussed the size of the house, its position, the furniture, the question of servants. They came nearer the present, and Goddard counted out into her hand six crisp bank-notes wherewith to buy her trousseau. Lizzie’s mind swam in ecstatic wonderment. “All this--for me?” she whispered, awestricken. “Yes, and as much more if you like. I am going to get a new rig out, so why shouldn’t you?” “Oh, Dan,” she broke out suddenly, throwing her arms round his neck, “I didn’t quite know whether I loved you before--but I do now--Dan!” There followed an interlude, during which the future was left in abeyance. “And I was wondering _how_ I was going to get a wedding-dress. Emmie and I have talked for hours over it. Won’t I get a beauty now! White satin with a long, long train. I saw one yesterday in a fashion-plate--oh! just lovely.” “I suppose you won’t feel married otherwise,” he said, with a quiet smile. And then, seeing a quick shadow of dismay on her face, he laughed and kissed her. “You shall drive to the church in a coach and four, with the horses’ manes and tails all tied up with orange-blossoms, if you like.” She saw he was jesting kindly, and joined in the laugh--but perfunctorily. The wedding-dress was the ecstatic, enrapturing part of the ceremony. To jest upon it savoured of profanity. After a while Lizzie returned to the tea-things, and, aided by Daniel, washed them up in the kitchen. “Only fancy! I am going to have servants to do this for me ever afterwards,” she said brightly. The possession of the trousseau money had strongly influenced the girl’s facile temperament. The changed fortune ceased to be shadowy and disquieting. It had assumed already a comforting, concrete form. The overwhelming realisation of the potential finery that lay in those crisp notes had crushed any feelings of delicacy in accepting the gift. The first wondering delight and childlike impulse of gratitude to Goddard was succeeded by a new sense of personal importance. Her garments would be dazzling--the thought of them raised her to a height whence she could almost look down upon Daniel. She no longer felt shy or constrained.