me. I felt as if I could easily faint, and I realized that the
long strain on my nerves had begun to tell. I had a queer impression
that I was only a body, and that my soul was far away looking for some
one it could not find. I was glad when we were settled in our seats, but
still the odour of the flowers oppressed me. I fancied that the brooding
gloom of the day would end in a thunderstorm.

People were whispering and rustling in their seats, wondering if it were
not almost the time for the bride music to begin. I had a jumpy
sensation that somebody behind me must be staring, and strongly willing
me to look round. Always I have been sensitive to that kind of
influence, and often, too, I've tried to make others feel it. I kept
turning my head, but could see no one who seemed to be taking an undue
interest in me. Presently, however, I caught Tony's eyes, which fixed
themselves on mine in an owlish stare.

"What makes you keep on twisting round like that?" he inquired in a
stage whisper. "Are you looking for any one in particular?"

"No--o," I said, "but I have a funny sort of feeling as if some one were
looking for me!"

"By Jove!" exclaimed Tony, and repressed himself at a glare from his
mother. "I wonder if it's possible----" He stopped, and began carefully
to smooth his silk hat which was poised on his knee.

"If what's possible?" I wanted to know, bending my head near to his,
regardless of somebody's plume which grazed my eye.

"Oh--er, nothing much. Only just a silly idea of mine."

"Tell me, and let me judge whether it's silly or not. You're rousing my
curiosity." And all the while I tingled with that almost irresistible
desire to turn my head again. It was as if I were missing something very
important.

"I'd rather not now," said Tony. "I'll tell you afterward."

Before I had time to wheedle the mystery out of him (as I felt confident
I could) the "Wedding March" from Lohengrin struck up. Of course, Diana
_would_ have that! It went with St. George's and the rest of it: the
"historic" thing.

She came up the aisle, her hand on Father's arm.

"Oh, doesn't he look _handsome_?" murmured Kitty Main.

"He?" I murmured back.

"Lord Ballyconal. But dear Diana is wonderful, of course."

Her wondrousness was largely a tribute to Kitty, who had given the bride
everything she had on, everything that was packed away in her trunks at
home, or laid out ready to go away in.

It all passed off exactly like any ot