The answer was a decided negative, and adjusting her little slipper,
Rosamond stood up while her companion put over her head the satin
dress. It fitted admirably, and nothing could have been fairer than
the round, chubby arms and plump, well-shaped shoulders which the
_shortcomings_ of the dress showed to good advantage. Now the lace
over-skirt--now the berthe--and then the veil, with the orange-wreath
twined among the flowing curls, and Rosamond was dressed at last.

"How do I look?" she asked, but Marie Porter made no immediate reply,
and as she gazed upon the young girl, so beautiful, so innocent, and
unsuspecting, who can tell of the keen anguish at her heart, or how
she shrank from the bitter task which she must do, and quickly, too,
for the clock pointed to _three_, and her plan was now to strike the
_dove_ and then flee ere the _eagle_ came. She would thus wound him
more deeply, for the very uncertainty would add fresh poison to his
cup of agony.

"How do I look?" Rosamond asked again, and after duly complimenting
the dress, Miss Porter added, "I promised you my story, and if I tell
it at all to-day, I must begin it now, for it is long, and I would
finish it ere Mr. Browning comes."

"Very well, I'm all attention," said Rosamond, and like a lamb before
its slaughterer she knelt before the woman, bending low her graceful
head to have the wreath removed.

This done, Miss Porter said, "Have you any camphor handy, or
hartshorn? I am sometimes faint and may want them."