Perhaps there was something infectious about the glamour surrounding a wedding.
Lily reflected naïvely that she had never before realized how impossible it would be to break off an engagement once it had been made known. Would one have to return all these glittering, shining presents, countermand all the things that had been ordered, write explanations to everybody, and an announcement to the papers so that one's change of mind should be made public? Surely nothing could be more utterly impossible. She had a strong suspicion that the mere imagining of such a contingency would unhesitatingly have been labelled as morbid by Miss Melody.
She abandoned it willingly.
A letter from Miss Melody, the reading of which was very like listening to Miss Melody's own deep voice, did much to confirm the surmise.
"Well, Lily dear, and so the die is cast! Shall you think me quite a witch, childie, if I confess that I wasn't altogether astonished at the news, although very, very much pleased?
"The love of a good man is a great thing. I am glad you look upon the responsibility that it entails upon you as a serious one. At the same time, however, don't let your thoughts dwell too much upon that side of it. Remember that 'the burden is fitted to the back!' Perhaps not very complimentary to Mr. Aubray, but you'll understand what I mean, dear child."
Lily could almost hear the low, rich laugh with which Miss Melody repudiated any uncomplimentary intent in the not very felicitous expression that she had selected.
Many other letters reached her, some of them from relations whom she had scarcely seen. Most of the writers seemed to have heard of Nicholas Aubray as a distinguished and clever man, some of them had even met him, and those who had not done so were as enthusiastic as those who had, since hearsay had endowed him so plentifully.
It was all very like a dream.
Nicholas urged an early wedding, and was rather timidly seconded by Philip.