'How do you know anything about my new gown,' asks Mabel.

George laughs, 'I happened to see it put out for inspection in your
room.'

'My room, what were you doing there?' begins Mabel, but he has
departed.

'What can he have been doing?' she says.

'Go and see,' suggests Lippa, and Mabel filled with curiosity, hastens
upstairs, but returns again in a minute.

'Look, what the dear thing has given me,' she cries, holding up a little
blue velvet case, 'I must go and thank him,' and down she goes to the
smoking-room, 'George, you dear old boy,' she says, hugging him round
the neck, 'isn't it lovely,' she goes on, turning to Philippa who has
followed her.

'It is indeed,' says she, carefully examining the moonstone set in
diamonds. 'Did you choose it yourself, George?'

'Didn't give me credit for so much taste, eh?'

'No, I don't think I did,' replies Lippa, quietly slipping out of the
room.

She wants to be alone, to think a little, it all seems so strange and
lovely; this time to-morrow she will be Mrs Dalrymple--Mrs Dalrymple!