She was quite sure that Lady Geraldine
did not like her, and that, as Lady Geraldine's husband, George Fairfax
could not be her friend. She thought of this a great deal in those busy
weeks before the wedding, and wondered at the heaviness of her heart in
these days. What was it that she had lost? As she had wondered a little
while ago at the brightness of her life, she wondered now at its darkness.
It seemed as if all the colour had gone out of her existence all at once;
as if she had been wandering for a little while in some enchanted region,
and found herself now suddenly thrust forth from the gates of that fairy
paradise upon the bleak outer world. The memory of her troubles came back
to her with a sudden sharpness. She had almost forgotten them of late--her
brother's exile and disgrace, her father's coldness, all that made her fate
dreary and hopeless. She looked forward to the future with a shudder. What
had she to hope for--now?
It was the last week in August when Lady Geraldine went up to London, and
George Fairfax hurried northward to his Friend's aerie. The trousseau had
been put in hand a day or two after the final settlement of affairs, and
the post had carried voluminous letters of instruction from Lady Laura to
the milliners, and had brought back little parcels containing snippings of
dainty fabrics, scraps of laces, and morsels of delicate silk, in order
that colours and materials might be selected by the bride.
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