all diamonds."

Close upon the heels of this letter followed a host of others. There was
the gushing, fervent letter of the friend whose joy was not marred by
the knowledge that a wedding present must necessarily follow. Those
among one's friends who are not called upon to offer a more substantial
token of joy than a letter are always the most keenly pleased to hear
the news of an engagement. There was the sober sheet (crossed) from the
elderly relative living in the country, who, never having been married
herself, takes the opportunity of giving four pages of advice to one
about to enter that parlous state. There was the fatherly letter from
the country rector who christened Millicent, and thinks that he may
be asked to marry her in a fashionable London church--and so to a
bishopric. On heavily-crested stationery follow the missives of the
ladies whose daughters would make sweet bridesmaids. Also the hearty
congratulations of the slight acquaintance, who is going to Egypt for
the winter, and being desirous of letting her house without having to
pay one of those horrid agents, "sees no harm in mentioning it." The
house being most singularly suitable for a young married couple. Besides
these, the thousand and one who wished to be invited to the wedding
in order to taste cake and champagne at the time, and thereafter the
sweeter glory of seeing their names in the fashionable news.

All these Millicent read with little interest, and answered in that
conveniently large calligraphy which made three lines look like a
note, and magnified a note into a four-page letter. The dressmakers'
circulars--the tradesmen's illustrated catalogues of things she could
not possibly want, and the jewellers' delicate photographs interested
her a thousand times more. But even these did not satisfy her. All these
people were glad--most of them were delighted. Millicent wanted to hear
from those who were not delighted, not even pleased, but in despair. She
wanted to hear more of the broken hearts. But somehow the broken hearts
were silent. Could it be that they did not care? Could it be that
THEY were only flirting? She dismissed these silly questions with the
promptness which they deserved. It was useless to think of it in that
way--more useless, perhaps, than she suspected; for she was not deep
enough, nor observant enough, to know that the broken hearts in question
had been much more influenced by the suspicion that she cared for
them than by