is a
year ago now since that wretched affair, and Wallace seems almost his
old self again, she says, so I hope he will soon have forgotten all
about me. I feel hot and cold whenever I think about it. It is
_wicked_ to play at being in love! Suppose I had accepted Wallace out
of pique, as I thought of doing for a few mad moments; suppose I had
been going to marry him to-morrow--how awful, how perfectly awful I
should feel now! How different from Vere, whose face looks so sweet and
satisfied that it does one good to look at her.

I have been slaving all day long arranging flowers and presents, and
after tea mother just insisted that I should come up to my room to rest
for an hour, so here I am, sitting on the very same chair on which I sat
in those far-away pre-historic ages when I began this diary, a silly bit
of a girl just home from school. I am not so very ancient now as years
go, but I have come through some big experiences, and to-day especially
I feel full of all sorts of wonderful thoughts and resolutions, because
to-morrow--to-morrow, Will is coming, and we shall meet again!

I think Vere guesses, I am almost sure that she does, for she and Jim
made such a point of his coming to the wedding, and she gave me his note
of acceptance with such a sympathetic little smile. Oh, how anxious I
had been until that letter arrived, and now that it is all settled I can
hardly rest until to-morrow. Rest! How can I rest? He arrives late
to-night, so we shall meet first of all in church. I shall feel as if,
like Vere, I am going to meet my bridegroom. It will seem like a double
wedding--hers and mine.

_The Wedding Day_.
It has all passed off perfectly, without a single hitch or drawback. To
begin with, the weather was ideal, just a typical warm June day, with
the sky one deep, unclouded blue. As I looked out of my window this
morning the lawns looked like stretches of green velvet, bordered with
pink and cream, for it is to be a rose wedding, and the date was fixed
to have them at their best. The house is full of visitors, and
everybody seemed overflowing with sympathy and kindness.

It must be horrid to be married in a place where you are not known, or
in a big town where a lot of strangers collect to stare at you, as if
you were part of a show. This dear little place is, to a man, almost as
much interested and excited as we are ourselves; the villagers ar