"It's a perfectly sweet dress! Of course it is just a wee, tiny bit
better than any other you've ever given me, you two old dears!"
Marjorie made her usual loving onslaught upon her smiling general and
captain who sat side by side on the living room davenport admiring her.
It was the evening of Constance Stevens' wedding and Marjorie was
proudly parading her maid of honor frock before her indulgent parents.
She had just come down stairs and was bubbling over with happiness at
the beauty of the gown, her flowers, and the prospect in general
directly ahead of her.
"Right face. Forward march to the end of the room," ordered General
Dean, gently holding Marjorie off from him. "Your distinguished captain
and I can't judge your fine feathers at such close range."
Marjorie obediently paraded the length of the room and back, a vision of
youthful enchantment. The pale yellow of her satin gown brought out
vividly her dark hair and starry eyes. She had once given Connie a blue
gown. This time Connie had been the donor. She had also insisted on
furnishing even the white velvet evening coat, lined with the same satin
as Marjorie's frock, along with the other accessories of the costume. It
lay across a chair, waiting for its lovely wearer. On the center table
reposed a huge cluster of yellow chrysanthemums, tied with pale satin
ribbon.
"Break ranks. Time for the gallant army to move on." Mr. Dean consulted
his watch.
"You didn't say what you thought of my frock," Marjorie reminded.
"I dare not. I have no desire to encourage vanity in my own child.
Besides, soldiers don't wear frocks. They wear uniforms," teased Mr.
Dean.
"Much obliged," Marjorie nodded saucy thanks. "I mean for the
compliment. It was a compliment, even though obscure."
"You are so welcome," gushed Mr. Dean. "Let me offer the army my arms."
He politely crooked his elbows to his wife and daughter.
Laughing, the two accepted his gallant offer, and the trio swept grandly
from the living room.
"Captain deserves a whole lot of compliments," Marjorie declared as they
walked down the drive three abreast to the limousine. "She looks so
beautiful tonight!"
"I had already observed that fact," returned her general, his eyes
admiringly resting on his wife. Always a beautiful woman, Mrs. Dean was
particularly distinctive in the white lace gown she was wearing. "You
haven't complimented me yet," he pointedly added.
"You mustn't ask for praise. Just be nice and folks will praise you of
their own accord," Marjorie gave his arm a vigorous pinch.
"I see!" He appeared to ponder. "Pretty is as pretty does. I suppose
that cruel pinch belongs with the advice."
"It does. Want another?"
"No, thank you. One more and I shall balk. Then who will see you to the
wedding?"
In this frolicsome strain the Deans set out for Gray Gables to see the
beautiful culmination of a romance begun with Marjorie's gift of a blue
dress to a girl who had known little then of happiness.
As Constance had said to Marjorie, on the night of Jerry's and Hal's
dance, only her near and dear ones were to be present at her marriage to
Lawrence Armitage. This happy event was to take place at Gray Gables at
eight o'clock that evening.
Due to the time of year, Constance had decided on a chrysanthemum
wedding, these being her foster father, Mr. Stevens', favorite flowers.
Laurie held Mr. Stevens next to his own father in affection. He
reverenced him as a master musician. Both he and Constance were glad to
defer to his preference in this respect.
During the drive to Gray Gables, Marjorie found her mother's hand and
held it. She was feeling rather emotional in a very quiet fashion.
Connie's wedding was not yet quite a reality. Could it be that at eight
o'clock that evening Connie was actually to be married? It seemed only
yesterday that she and Constance were walking home from high school,
grumbling over the length of next days' French lesson.
Her captain understanding her sudden change of mood asked no questions,
simply passed her free arm about Marjorie's shoulders. Only the day
before she had observed to her husband: "Here is our Constance on the
eve of marriage. Marjorie is still nothing but a large child. Her ideas
of love are very vague."
"I am glad of it," Mr. Dean had returned. "I hope her romance to come is
still far distant."
Arrived at Gray Gables they found the large square reception hall and
drawing room had been converted into a chrysanthemum bower. The clean
fresh scent of chrysanthemums filled the air. At the foot of the wide
staircase were two huge vases of large, fringed, white mums. From this
point a white ribboned aisle began which extended to one end of the
drawing room, where an exquisite banking of palms and yellow and white
mums marked the spot before which Constance and Laurie would stand to
repeat their vows of deathless love and loyalty. Along each side of the
ribboned way bloomed a hedge of golden and white mums of the small,
bushy variety. The aisles reminded Marjorie of the chrysanthemum walk at
Wayland Hall, designed by Brooke Hamilton.
"Go on up stairs, Marjorie," Miss Allison directed, after welcoming the
Deans. "Constance looks so lovely. She is waiting anxiously for you."
Marjorie needed no second instructions. She ran up the stairs in her
usual buoyant fashion and knocked at a familiar door.
"Come in." Constance rose from before her dressing table as Marjorie
entered. The two met in the middle of the room and embraced. For a long
moment they stood thus. In the eyes of each were tears which they both
strove to check.
"I'm so happy, Marjorie, and sad, and my feelings are a general jumble,"
half sobbed Constance.
Marjorie nodded through tears. "I know. I feel that way, too, just
because it's you. I don't want to cry and make my eyelids pink and
neither do you," she added with a tremulous laugh.
This brought a smile to Constance's lovely but distinctly solemn
features. The first rush of emotion past, the chums felt better.
"How dear you are in your wedding gown!" Marjorie exclaimed. She had now
stepped far enough away from Constance to obtain a good view of her. The
dress was of heavy white satin, beautiful in its simplicity of design.
On a white-covered stand nearby lay the long fine lace veil with its
perfumed garniture of lilies of the valley and orange blossoms. Beside
it was the bride's bouquet, a shower of the same sweet lilies and orange
blossoms.
"This is Laurie's gift to me." Constance touched tenderly a string of
luscious pearls adorning her white throat. "I want you to help me adjust
my veil. Aunt Susan's maid wished to, but I wouldn't let her. I
preferred you to do it, Marjorie."
"I'd love to. You know that," Marjorie left off admiring the pearls to
make this warm assurance. "Go and sit on your dressing-table chair. Then
you can see me fix your veil and be sure that you are satisfied with
it."
Constance obediently complied. Marjorie lightly lifted the fairy-like
bridal insignia and placed it upon her friend's head.
"I am your fairy god-mother," she said in a dramatic voice. "On your
wedding night I come to bring you every known happiness. I place the
chaplet of love upon your head and grant you a long, untroubled life."
Both girls laughed at this bit of fancy, the oval mirror reflecting a
charming picture as Marjorie carefully adjusted the veil over Connie's
golden curls.
Presently the floor clock in the room ticked off ten minutes to eight.
Next Miss Allison entered with: "Are you ready, dear?"
"Yes, Auntie." Constance rose and held out both hands to the woman whose
great-heartedness had changed the current of her whole life. "I wish I
could thank you for all you've done for me, Aunt Susan," she said with
wistful sincerity. "It is so beautiful to have this kind of wedding from
the home you gave me and surrounded by my very best friends."
"Nonsense, child," declared Miss Allison with gentle energy. "Think of
all you have given me to make me happy. Though I shall miss you more
when you are in Europe, simply because you are farther away, I feel this
to be a particularly wonderful ending of a Thanksgiving Day. Now I must
leave you girls and go on down stairs. Be ready to descend on the first
notes of the wedding march, Connie. Don't keep your bridegroom waiting."
With this touch of humor she left them.
As Mr. Stevens, Uncle John Roland and little Charlie were detailed to
give away the bride, Professor Harmon, Laurie's old friend at Weston
High School, and three members of the Sanford orchestra formerly
directed by Mr. Stevens, had been invited to play the wedding music.
With the first dulcet strains of Mendelssohn's immortal Wedding March,
Constance began a slow descent of the staircase, followed by Marjorie.
It seemed eminently fitting that Marjorie, who had so loyally stood by
Constance through thick and thin, should now be making this short though
momentous pilgrimage with her.
At the foot of the stairs, Laurie, looking handsomer than Marjorie had
ever before seen him, awaited his bride. Hal, his boyhood friend, stood
beside him. Marjorie flashed him a bright, friendly glance as the two of
them fell in behind their chums and began the walk through the flowery
aisle to the bank of chrysanthemums. There Mr. Armitage, Miss Allison,
Uncle John, Mr. Stevens and Charlie awaited them. Laurie had wished
matters thus arranged.
Gathered informally in the spacious room were the Lookouts of the
original chapter, Miss Archer, Mr. La Salle, two or three Weston High
School instructors whom Laurie had specially liked, a dozen or more of
his high school comrades, two or three friends of his father's, and his
dead mother's only sister. These made up the wedding guests. As the last
telling strains of the wedding march died into that impressive silence
which always immediately precedes the bridal ceremony, the company moved
forward and formed a wide, worshiping circle about the wedding party.
Then the rector of the Sanford Episcopal Church began the fine, old
Episcopalian ring service.
It was the first wedding in which Marjorie had taken a part more
important than that of guest. Constance was also the first one of the
Lookouts to be married. So thoroughly impressed was she with Constance
and Laurie, she gave no special thought to Hal. He was wondering with
might and main if Marjorie might possibly awaken to love as a result of
the marriage of the best friend of each of them. Hal had learned his
lesson, however, on the night of the dance he and Jerry had given. He
had then understood definitely that Marjorie wished to keep far away
from any sentiment for him deeper than friendship. He was resolved to
keep to this plane, no matter how bitterly it grieved him. He would
never give Marjorie up as his prospective wife until he heard from her
own lips that she did not love him. Still, he would never again make the
faintest approach toward sentiment unless he saw for himself that it was
not distasteful to her. He had set a hard task for himself. He was
determined to carry it through. Boyishly, he told himself that if ever
he asked Marjorie to marry him and she refused him, he would never
marry.
The ceremony over, Constance was passed from one to another of her dear
ones, while Laurie received the firm handclasps of his men friends. As
the hands of Hal and Laurie met, their eyes exchanged glances. In
Laurie's was untold sympathy. In Hal's was an expression which might
have been either fortitude or proud resignation. Laurie could not judge
which. He could only hope, as he had recently told Constance, that
Marjorie would wake up some day to what a real prince old Hal was.
Solemnity, even momentary, could not long survive the unique presence of
Charlie Stevens. Hardly had the first congratulations been extended when
Charlie loudly expressed himself to Marjorie.
"I was going to marry you myself, Marj'rie, but I sha'n't. You're a good
deal too tall and old to make me a nice wife," he pleasantly observed.
"That's quite a pretty dress you've got on. Someone else, maybe someone
as tall as Laurie or Hal might like to marry you--someday. I wouldn't. I
like you, Marj'rie, 'bout the best of all, next to Connie and Mary
Raymond, but I'd rather stay at home with Uncle John than get married."
"I think it is just as well you changed your mind, Charlie." Marjorie
joined in the laughter at her expense. Her color had deepened a trifle
at Charlie's hopeful prophecy that someone as tall as Hal might like to
marry her some day.
"I think so, too," Charlie agreed importantly. "I may get married when
I'm about a hundred. I'll be a good deal taller then. I and my wife will
come to your house to see Delia and have her give us some choc'lit
cake."
Well satisfied with this plan, he trotted off after his idol, Uncle John
Roland, who could not look at Connie without tears. He had left the
group gathered about the bridal couple until he was again able to
control his emotions.
Laurie and Constance had elected to spend a week's honeymoon in the
Armitages' New York home, which Laurie had been preparing for his bride
for three months before their marriage. From there they would sail for
Europe. They were to leave Sanford on the eleven o'clock express for New
York.
Constance's last act before changing her wedding dress for travel attire
was to throw her bouquet from the open staircase down among her girl
friends. Muriel Harding captured it, thereby bringing down upon herself
plenty of good-natured raillery. Marjorie had tried with the others to
catch the bouquet, as a matter of sport. She was secretly glad when it
fled past her and almost into Muriel's hands. While she had taken the
utmost interest in Connie's wedding, she did not wish to be reminded,
even by a fragrant floral sign, that somewhere in the future lurked a
wedding day for herself.