MATRON OF HONOR
“We were speaking of Mary Louise’s wedding when you came in,” Alora
said to Mrs. Markle.
“And Danny’s!” put in Mary Louise.
“Oh, of course, Danny’s! Danny may be a wonder but he doesn’t count
much on his own wedding day. That day is the bride’s,” laughed Alora.
“You are to have a church wedding, I fancy,” said Mrs. Markle.
“No, we are to be married here at home. Grandpa Jim much prefers it and
so do Danny and I.”
“Oh, then of course it must be at home. Your house is large but the
rooms do not open into each other for the best effect for a wedding.
Why don’t you be married out of doors?” suggested Mrs. Markle. “It
would be lovely. The guests could stand all along these terraces or
anywhere they chose and the bridal party could approach through the
opening in that wonderful old yew hedge. It would be a beautiful
picture. I can see it now!” and she waved her hand towards the fine
old sunken garden which was the pride of Colonel Hathaway and his
granddaughter.
“The very thing!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Don’t you think so, Irene?”
“It would be lovely.”
“Grandpa Jim would like it a lot, I am sure,” said Mary Louise.
“You are to have bridesmaids, of course,” continued Mrs. Markle. “Let
them dress in pastel shades of palest and softest hue and carry sweet
peas.”
“That will be great if we have different colors,” put in Elizabeth. “I
am crazy about being a bridesmaid, but I must say I am not crazy about
going around with about seven twins for the rest of the summer.”
“You are to have eight bridesmaids, then?” asked Mrs. Markle as she and
her hostess went down to the garden to plan.
“Yes, eight besides my maid of honor,” explained Mary Louise. “You see,
I couldn’t bear to leave out any of the girls.”
“And who is the maid of honor?”
“Irene MacFarlane! She is the very best friend I have in the whole
world.”
“But how can she be a maid of honor in a chair?”
“I don’t know, but she must be. In the house she can roll around quite
easily. I am not sure about it out of doors but, if she can’t, we will
abandon the idea of having it out in the garden.” Mary Louise spoke
quite decidedly.
“That would be a pity.”
“Yes, but I must have Irene.”
Mary Louise had always said if she ever married she would have her dear
friend as maid of honor and Irene had felt a fierce pride in the fact
that she was chosen. She realized the moment the plan was suggested of
having the ceremony out of doors that this honor was not to be hers.
She could run her chair with great skill on smooth floors but she felt
it would be awkward indeed to try to do it in the garden and then she
felt that in some way she would mar the picture. She too could close
her eyes and see the effect of the outdoor wedding with the old yew
hedge as a background and the beds of old-fashioned flowers adding to
the beauty of the scene; the bride in white and the eight bridesmaids
in the pastel shades suggested by Hortense Markle.
“It will be beautiful and I must quietly get out of the picture,” Irene
said to herself. It hurt her to think of it. The girl was sure she
would never marry herself, nobody would ever want to marry such a poor
little deformed person. She had settled that long ago, but it would
have been pleasant to be the next one to the bride. Even that pleasure
must be taken from her and she herself must be the one to put it away.
She looked sadly after the girls as they trooped into the garden to
join Mary Louise and Mrs. Markle.
“If she only had not suggested the outdoor wedding!” she sighed. “But I
must not harbor resentment against Mrs. Markle. She is charming and so
clever. Instead I must try to like her. I wish I could sew as well as
she can.”
She picked up the dainty camisole whereon Hortense had embroidered the
exquisite rose and examined it closely. She took from her basket a
little magnifying glass she occasionally made use of in doing very fine
embroidery. Through the glass she could see where the patch had been
inserted.
“I must not look at people through a magnifying glass,” she mused.
“If it magnified their perfections it would be all right, but it seems
only to show up their faults. I have shown a poor spirit myself this
morning, and if I turned the magnifying glass on my own soul, it would
disclose many ugly patches and gashes.” She put her hand over her eyes
and offered a silent prayer for a just and contrite spirit.
When the girls came back from the garden, they found Irene with a smile
on her sensitive face and on her lips a gay little tune she was humming.
“I do hope you have decided to have the wedding out of doors,” she
cried. “If it is out of doors, I can see it too, as I will be a
spectator. From my chair I can see the procession as it comes through
the yew hedge and follows the garden walk.”
“But, Irene--” began Mary Louise.
“Don’t but Irene me,” laughed the girl. “As for bridesmaids: they are
like the purple cow to me, ‘I’d rather see than be one.’ Let me be a
kind of vestal virgin, stationed near the altar.”
“But I have always said that I would have no maid of honor but you,”
declared Mary Louise, “and I won’t.”
“You shall have to swallow your words then, my dear,” insisted Irene.
“If not a maid, you might have a matron,” suggested Hortense.
“Certainly,” agreed Irene.
“Nobody could take the place of Irene,” objected Mary Louise.
“But, honey, a place in a wedding procession is not a place in your
heart,” whispered Irene, drawing her friend close to her.
“I have heard brides say that, unless they have an attendant, the thing
is hard to go through with,” said Hortense. “Of course you might go on
your grandfather’s arm, but it is not quite so picturesque as having
all girls. Black coats, when all is told, are ugly affairs.”
“Grandpa Jim would rather not be too much in evidence, I think. The
truth of the matter is he is afraid he might get stage fright. He says
it is hard enough on him to have to give me away. Will you be my matron
of honor, Hortense?”
“But, my dear, you must have closer and dearer friends than I am among
the young married people. Nobody who loves you more, but--”
“Please,” begged Mary Louise.
“Why, of course! I feel more flattered than I can say.”
And so it was settled.
“We must plan the dresses, making each color the one the wearer
prefers. I must wear pale grey, as I am merely the bride’s shadow. I
must not show much.”
“And I want pink!” cried one.
“And I blue!” said another. And so on until all the colors in the
rainbow and some others were appropriated either by the girls present
for themselves or for the absent members.
“Suppose it rains!” suggested Elizabeth.
“But it couldn’t and it wouldn’t!” cried Lucile. “Not on Mary Louise’s
wedding day.”
Irene was quietly gathering up her sewing things preparatory to her
departure. As the girls discussed their bridesmaids’ dresses, she
glanced at Hortense and could not help noting a kind of triumph in her
bearing.