“Hear! Hear!” cried Ann Hicks. “The bride speaks.”
“This is a good omen,” declared Jennie clinging to Henri’s arm. “Our Ruth was wounded in France and has been in danger on many occasions, as we all know. Never has she more gracefully escaped disaster, nor been aided by a more chivalrous cavalier. Drink! Drink to Ruth Fielding and to Chessleigh Copley! They are two very lucky people, for that ceiling might have cracked their crowns.”
They drank the toast—most of them with much laughter.
“Some orator, Jennie,” commented Helen. “We are just beginning to appreciate you.”
“You will all be sorry that you did not treat me better—especially as a chee-ild,” returned the plump bride, with mock solemnity. “Think! Think how you all used to abuse my—my appetite at Briarwood Hall. It is only Mammy Rose who is kind to me,” and she pointed to the old colored woman’s gift that had a place of honor before her own plate and that of Major Marchand’s.
“Let me give a toast,” cried Helen gaily. “Let us drink to Jennie’s appetite—long may it wave.”
“Goodness me! Don’t speak of waves and appetite in the same breath, I beg. Remember we are going directly aboard ship from the house and—and I never was a good sailor. Waves! Ugh!”
The fun went on while the serving people swept up the debris and removed those dishes that had been covered with dust.
Aside, Ruth, taking for the moment little part in the chatter and merriment, for she had received a considerable shock, stood talking with Copley. Ruth had given him her hand again and Chess clung to it rather more warmly—so the watchful Tom thought—than was needful. But the girl felt that she really had a great deal to thank Copley for.
“Jennie in her fun spoke quite truly,” Ruth said in a low voice. “You are a friend in need.”