Richard, who felt decidedly foolish and could not shake off the impression that Mrs.Hanway-Harley was somehow the victim of his happiness,--such was the serious effect of that lady's acting,--confessed himself delighted when the interview was over.

When Dorothy and he were by themselves, Richard drew a deep breath, and confided to Dorothy that Mrs.Hanway-Harley was a load off his mind, whatever that should mean.
The formalities above recorded having been disposed of, Dorothy, nobly abetted by Bess and extravagantly encouraged by Mr.Harley, plunged into the business of her trousseau with the utmost fury.

She became the center of a bevy of dressmakers and milliners, and these artists got vastly in the way of Richard when he called.

Richard, being excluded, put in hours in the harmless society of Mr.Fopling, who looked upon Richard, now his wedding day was fixed, in fearful admiration, and said that some day he supposed he must come to it himself.

Mr.Fopling spoke of marriage as though it were a desperate creature of citadels and mines and scaling ladders and smoke-filled breaches, to face which would call for the soul of a paladin.
As Dorothy's gown-buying and hat-trimming expanded into a riot of ribbons and flounces and all decorative things, Mrs.Hanway-Harley, attracted by a bustle dear to the feminine heart, was drawn more and more from out her shell of martyrdom until finally she stood in the fore-front of the melee, giving directions.