Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. "You depart for Lancashire to-morrow. The bridesmaids and pages got rather jumbled in the aisle, and she had an effect of Alice’s white back and sloping shoulders and veiled head receding toward the altar. ’ ‘No, of course you could not,’ Gerald soothed. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. .
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