“Oh!” the woman cried out. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

Well, it might be, Johanna thought, and then again it might not. She might be marrying anybody. Some miserable farmer who wanted a workhorse around the place, or some wheezy old half-cripple looking for a nurse. This woman had no idea what kind of man she had lined up, and it wasn’t any of her business anyway.

“I can tell it’s a love match,” the woman said, just as if she had read these disgruntled thoughts. “That’s why your eyes were shining in the mirror. I’ve wrapped it all in tissue paper, all you have to do is take it out and hang it up and the material will fall out beautifully. Just give it a light press if you want, but you probably won’t even need to do that.”

Then there was the business of handing over the money. They both pretended not to look, but both did.

“It’s worth it,” the woman said. “You only get married the once. Well, that’s not always strictly true-”

“In my case it’ll be true,” Johanna said. Her face was hotly flushed because marriage had not, in fact, been mentioned. Not even in the last letter. She had revealed to this woman what she was counting on, and that had perhaps been an unlucky thing to do.

“Where did you meet him?” said the woman, still in that tone of wistful gaiety. “What was your first date?”

“Through family,” Johanna said truthfully. She wasn’t meaning to say any more but heard herself go on. “The Western Fair. In London.”

“The Western Fair,” the woman said. “In London.” She could have been saying “the Castle Ball.”