great
shapeless place--its crowds, its fogs, its lights--was beautiful to
see. She never wanted to be taken to theatres or show-places; the
spectacle of London being London was enough for her, as it should be,
indeed, for any one. She loved the ceaseless motion, the sense of
something getting done; the whole feeling of energy massed in a little
space seemed to inspire this girl used only to the sleepy, uneventful
fields.

"Well, and how do you like it? How does it strike you?" he asked, as
from an omnibus he showed her, for the first time, that thrilling crowd
which passes, ant-like, this way and that, seemingly purposeless yet
always full of purpose, past the Bank of England. He loved to hear her
quaint, unformed ideas.

Helena thought for a moment. "It makes me feel so _useless_," she
replied.

She was a delightful child, Hubert told himself--unspoilt, original,
and modest. When he forgot about his ruined novel, he certainly was
happy. His unhid admiration helped a little to melt Mrs. Hallam, who
was still looking pathetically for the absolute objection which she
felt sure she ought at last to find. And all this while the day was
coming near.

Mrs. Hallam had rather naturally planned that the wedding should take
place in Devonshire; but the bridegroom had been so hideously shocked,
and Helena thought a London wedding so much better "fun," that Mrs.
Hallam, already feeling nobody, had given in to them with a weak smile.
She did not mind where it took place, so long as they were happy and it
was really for the best. Besides, she had a brother who lived in a big
house in Langham Place. He always had been very mean, and was a
bachelor, and it was time altogether that he did something for the
family....

On the last night, however, before the wedding-day, she tuned herself
at bedtime to a final effort. She was sad and depressed: they had
talked long downstairs; her own instinct would have been to cry or go
to sleep; but she decided that, for her own later peace of mind if for
no higher motive, she must do something far less pleasant. So along
she went to the second-best spare-room in the mean brother's house.

"Helena dear," she said, to meet her daughter's startled look, "I've
come along, although we've had our talk downstairs, because I feel I
can't sleep till I have asked you a question."

Helena was not greatly reassured. She had not really understood a lot
of what her mother had sobbed out to h