Lady d'Eyncourt, Margaret and Harriet, were walking on the lawn beneath the broad light of the harvest moon. It was the evening before the marriage.
"Do feel nervous, little one, please," said Harriet; "I can't bear heroines. Do be frightened! I assure you, I tremble for you. He is a fire eater—your Mr. Haveloc."
"You will make her nervous, Harriet," said Elizabeth, gently.
"I tell you what, Margaret," said Harriet, "I hope you and Mr. Haveloc, will not turn too religious, that is all. I expect, when I come to Tynebrook, to find you grown into two old hermits, with beards down to your waists."
"Pray exempt me from the beard, Harriet," said Margaret smiling.
"I say, the next time you go to Tynebrook church, you will think of your first visit," said Harriet.
"Do not remind me of it, Harriet."
"What a number of little lies you did tell," exclaimed Harriet; "but I suppose it is natural, is it not, Bessy?"
"Do you remember whether I told many during my noviciate?"