TRUE LOVE’S OWN SYMBOL
“My dear child, I’m going to say good-bye now to Jerry Macy and take
myself off downstairs so as to be ready to be among the first to say,
‘Good fortune to Jerry Seabrooke’.”
Miss Susanna Hamilton folded Jerry in her arms, kissing her gently upon
both cheeks, and then upon her lips. The little old lady, charming in
her gown of ecru satin and duchess lace, was smiling at Jerry, a world
of affection in her small bright eyes.
“Dearest Goldendede.” Jerry returned the embrace with fervor. “I love
you bushels as Jerry Macy, and when I’m Jerry Seabrooke, I’ll go on
loving you, even more than bushels.”
“That’s worth looking forward to.” Miss Susanna wagged her head with
amused appreciation.
“I’m next, Jerry, dear.” Mrs. Dean now claimed Jerry. “It seems hardly
more than yesterday since you and Marjorie went raiding the Dean kitchen
after school on a hunt for chocolate cake. Romance was far from your
thoughts then. Marjorie found hers, and you yours. We are all happy in
your happiness tonight.” Mrs. Dean’s tones bespoke her love for Jerry.
“Wonderful things have befallen the Dean Army.”
“I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world, Captain.” Jerry brought a
hand to her forehead in playful salute. “Besides Father and Mother and
Hal I’ve you and General and Miss Susanna as special superior officers
to wish me happiness. Some honor for Lieutenant Macy, I’ll say.”
“And you never counted me in.” Marjorie shook a finger at Jerry. Seated
on a chaise longue she had thus far been a contentedly-smiling, silent
spectator to the fond little scene of which Jerry formed the center.
“Oh, _you’re_ my brother officer. I take you for granted,” Jerry assured
her.
It was half-past seven by the busily ticking Dresden clock on Jerry’s
chiffonier. At eight o’clock that evening Jerry was to be married to
Danny Seabrooke in the Macy’s beautiful salon-like drawing room
downstairs. She had been dressed for half an hour for the momentous
journey she was soon to take down the grand staircase, and on her
flower-decked way to keep a high tryst with Danny, her devoted cavalier
of high school days.
Mrs. Dean, Miss Susanna and Marjorie had been spending an intimate half
hour with the bride-to-be in accordance to her forceful plea: “For
goodness sake stick to me.” The two older women now left the room to
take their places among the guests. Only Marjorie remained with her
chum, knowing that Jerry wished her to do so.
As the door closed upon Miss Susanna and Mrs. Dean, Jerry walked over to
the long triple-plated floor mirror and began a critical survey of her
resplendent self in it. Marjorie sat watching her with proud, admiring
eyes. She thought she had never before seen Jerry look so pretty.
“Well, Bean,” Jerry presently turned away from the mirror to fix round,
inquiring blue eyes almost solemnly upon Marjorie, “what’s the verdict?
I mean, how does Jeremiah look?”
“You are so lovely in your wedding dress, Jerry.” Marjorie gave a sigh
of delighted admiration.
“Honestly, and truly _am I_—_do_ I look as nice as that?” Jerry’s cheeks
grew pinker at the tribute.
“Honestly, and truly you are—you do,” Marjorie assured with amused
emphasis. “You know I’ve always liked best to see you wear white. But
tonight—you are positively stunning, Jeremiah. Your wedding dress is a
dream, and so are you in it.”
“Oh, gee, but I’m glad of it,” Jerry gave a sigh of profound relief.
“Since it’s you who is saying it, I have to believe it. I’d like to
look—um-m, something celostrous, all on Danny’s account. I want him to
be properly impressed by my—ahem—resplendent beauty,” Jerry giggled, her
sense of humor ever to the fore. There was, nevertheless, something of
girlish wistfulness in her joking words.
“He will be,” Marjorie devotedly predicted. “What do _you_ think of
yourself in your wedding finery?” she continued mischievously.
“Oh, pretty fair, Bean; just middling.” There was a pleased gleam in
Jerry’s eyes, however, as she turned once more to the mirror.
She made a charming picture standing before it, looking taller and
slimmer than was her wont in the straight beautiful lines of her ivory
satin wedding gown with its garniture of pearls and rare old lace. The
lace-trimmed court train, falling from the shoulders, the long tight
sleeves and the V-shaped pearl-embroidered neck also served to heighten
the stately effect of her costume.
“I shan’t put on my veil until the last minute,” she announced
matter-of-factly. “Just let me tell you this, Bean, it’s a whole lot
more trouble to dress for one’s own wedding than it is for some one
else’s.”
Mindful of her snowy finery she sat down carefully on the edge of her
bed and viewed Marjorie with a half abashed, half impish air. “How’s
that for a sweetly sentimental thought to trot along to the altar?” she
asked.
“It’s strictly a la Jeremiah, only you’ll forget it the instant you hear
the wedding march.” A reminiscent gleam had appeared in Marjorie’s eyes.
“I guess you know what you are talking about.” Jerry fell into sudden
silence. Apparently unsentimental Jerry was not lacking in either
sentiment, or emotion. She was feeling deeply the tension of the moment,
but was endeavoring to hide it, even from Marjorie. “I only hope I keep
in step with it,” she added with a reflective air.
“In step with what?” Marjorie came suddenly out of her moment of
dreaming.
“The wedding march, of course,” Jerry replied with a faint chuckle.
“Oh,” Marjorie had to laugh with her. She understood Jerry, and the way
she was feeling, also the facetious effort her chum was making to
conceal her real feelings.
“I never did like having a lot of fuss made over me.” Jerry rose and
walked to a side table on which reposed her wedding bouquet of lilies of
the valley and white orchids. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, lifting it
up almost reverently. Her humorous expression had vanished into one of
girlish seriousness.
“I love it. It’s so perfect”—Marjorie paused—“as perfect as love. It’s
true love’s own symbol.”
“True love,” Jerry repeated musingly. “I never dreamed for a minute when
Danny and I used to squabble and play jokes on each other as high school
pals that I’d ever love him enough to marry him. You know I always said
I was never never going to be married.” For a moment she bent her face
over the mass of exquisite white blooms, hiding it from view. She
presently raised it from the bouquet with: “Times have certainly
changed, Beanie. They certainly have changed.”
“It looks that way, Macy,” Marjorie gaily agreed. Gradually her smile
faded. “Jerry,” she began slowly, “you know you and I have never talked
much to each other about Hal—and—and—the way things were for so long
between us before—well—before I discovered that I really had a heart for
love. At that time I was relieved because you tried never to let me
think you were disappointed because I didn’t then love Hal. I felt that
you were, and I often wished to have a talk with you about him. Somehow
I couldn’t bring myself to speak of him, even to you. I was so sure that
I could never learn to love him in the beautiful way I believed he loved
me. Captain was the only one I confided my troubles to.”
“You weren’t to blame because you didn’t know your own heart,” Jerry
made loyal defense. “I used to feel a little out of patience with you at
times. It hurt me like sixty to see Hal try to buck up, determined not
to show what a crusher you had handed him. Still, I couldn’t blame you,
either. Love’s the world’s great mystery, even if it is love that sends
the old ball dizzying around,” Jerry finished with slangy philosophy.
In spite of her practical tone Marjorie glimpsed a glint of tenderness
in her chum’s eyes as she gently deposited the white armful of fragrance
upon the table again.
“I’ve not yet forgiven myself for having hurt Hal so. Whenever I think
of how nearly I lost him forever by my own blindness, it sends my heart
away down for a minute. It will take a lifetime of devotion on my part
to make it up to him. We’re so happy together now. It doesn’t seem as
though I deserved such happiness,” Marjorie ended half wistfully.
“Shucks,” was Jerry’s comforting opinion. “You deserved happiness more
than any one of us did.”
“Oh, no,” Marjorie shook her head gravely. “No one deserves to be
happier than you and Danny are going to be. You two just simply drifted
beautifully into love. There haven’t been any misunderstandings, or
heartaches, in your romance. It’s been ideal.”
“That’s so.” Jerry considered Marjorie’s assertion with a half
embarrassed flush. It was the witching, intimate hour for confidences
between the chums. “I guess we began to miss each other a lot at about
the same time. I missed Danny dreadfully during my senior year at
Hamilton. When we came to compare notes, last summer at Severn Beach, we
found we weren’t crazy about having to be so far away from each other
and—that’s the way it all happened,” she confessed half shyly. “Danny
wanted to ask me to marry him on that night when we went for a sail in
the _Oriole_ and Hal sang the ‘Venetian Boat Song’ with a kind of
heart-break in his voice that he hadn’t the least idea was there. You
missed it entirely, but it got both Danny and me. I’ll never forget that
night as long as I live.” Jerry made an eloquently reminiscent gesture.
“He told me after we became engaged that he hadn’t the courage to ask me
that night to marry him, for fear I might turn him down as you had Hal.”
“That was a night I had some very sad memories of, long afterward, when
I came to a realization that I really loved Hal, but too late. I
surmised he was going to ask me to marry him before I went back to
Hamilton, and I was determined not to give him an opportunity. Wasn’t I
stony-hearted though?” Marjorie laughed rather tremulously.
“You’re bravely over it now, and that’s what counts,” was Jerry’s sturdy
philosophy. “I think that when——”
“Jerry, dear, the girls will be here in a minute.” Mrs. Macy’s hurried
entrance into the room broke up the confidential session. A plump dainty
little figure in her handsome gown of pearly gray and white, her bright
blue eyes adoringly took in the charming spectacle of Jerry in her brave
white array. “Shall I help you with your veil?” She nodded briskly
toward the beautiful, voluminous veil of brussels net which swept
fairy-like folds across the foot of Jerry’s bed.
“Please do, Mother.” The two exchanged fond smiles.
Mrs. Macy lifted the misty, exquisite lace cloud from the bed and
trotted over to Jerry with it. Jerry stood very still while her mother
placed the coronet-like cap, with its garniture of pearls and orange
blossoms, on her head, and adjusted it to her critical satisfaction.
The pretty service performed, Jerry placed her hands on her mother’s
cheeks and kissed her on the lips. “Thank you, Mother,” she said. The
uncontrollable impulse toward humor overcoming her she pulled a fold of
the veil over her face and peered owlishly through the lace meshes at
Marjorie. “It’s too late for regrets,” she quavered in a doleful tone.
“Good night, Jerry Macy.”
“Do try to behave well during the ceremony, at least, Jerry,” was her
mother’s laughing advice as she circled about her irrepressible daughter
in anxious mother-proud survey.
“I will,” Jerry promised in a hollow voice that set the trio laughing. A
murmur of voices outside her door, and she added encouragingly: “Here
come the girls. Kindly note my exemplary behavior from now on. Jeremiah
is going to step strictly into line for the great occasion.”
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