The Amethyst Box
And my wedding-day was as yet a vague and distant hope, while his was set for the morrow.
"We must carry down stairs very different faces from these," he remarked, "or we shall be stopped before we reach the library."
I made an effort at composure, so did he; and both being determined men, we soon found ourselves in a condition to descend among our friends without attracting any closer attention than was naturally due him as prospective bridegroom and myself as best man.
Mrs. Armstrong, our hostess, was