"Oh, everybody knows that," observed Cecile. "What we want to know is,
what does He mean to do with us."
"If we're good," added Samuel, fervently.
"He will damn us, perhaps," said Ruyven, sucking his paint-brush and
looking critically at his work.
"Damn us? Why?" inquired Dorothy, raising her eyes.
"Oh, for all that sin we were born in," said Ruyven, absently.
"But that's not fair," said Dorothy.
"Are you smarter than a clergyman?" sneered Ruyven.
Dorothy spread the white silk stocking over one knee. "I don't know,"
she sighed, "sometimes I think I am."
"Pride," commented Cecile, complacently. "Pride is sin, so there you
are, Dorothy."
"There you are, Dorothy!" said I, laughing from the doorway; and, "Oh,
Cousin Ormond!" they all chorused, scrambling up to greet me.
"Have a care!" cried Dorothy. "That is my wedding petticoat! Oh, he's
slopped water on it! Benny, you dreadful villain!"
"No, he hasn't," said I, coming out to greet her and Cecile, with Samuel
and Benny hanging to my belt, and Harry fast hold of one arm. "And
what's all this about wedding finery? Is there a bride in this
vicinity?"
Dorothy held out a stocking. "A bride's white silken hose," she said,
complacently.
"Embroidered on the knee with the bride's initials," added Cecile,
proudly.
"Yours, Dorothy?" I demanded.
"Yes, but I shall not wear them for ages and ages. I told you so last
night."
"But I thought Dorothy had best make ready," remarked Cecile. "Dorothy
is to carry that fan and wear those slippers and this petticoat and the
white silk stockings when she weds Sir George."
"Sir George who?" I asked, bluntly.
"Why, Sir George Covert. Didn't you know?"