I was truly sorry about it all. Yet I could not wish it different. And when Sophie ran over in the edge of the evening I tried to comfort her.
"She doesn't like me, I can see that," she said with a catch in her breath that was like a sob. "And I feel so sorry for Homer. He has counted on our all being so happy together, and I would try to be like a true daughter, only she is so stiff I shall always feel afraid."
"I think she will get over it. She has such a good warm heart. I'm quite sure it will get settled by the time you are ready to be married," I said hopefully. I couldn't imagine Mrs. Hayne holding out.
"We're going to have a betrothal party. Mother was waiting for her call to settle that, and Mr. Hayne has given Homer a lot. It's almost out on the prairie, but if the Wrights don't mind living there we oughtn't. We've been planning it—he's going to build two rooms quite to the middle of the lot, and when he gets forehanded, as you Americans say, he will put up a nice front."
Father thought that an excellent idea. Homer came and talked it over with him, and I think he was much pleased.
Then there was the betrothal party. They had a new priest now at St. Mary's—Father Fischer, and he was very gracious and kindly. The ceremony seemed as solemn as a marriage to me. But it was true that most of the guests were French. I was beginning to talk quite well, and felt really at home among them.
"I don't know what we should do without you," Homer said, squeezing my hand. "You must coax up mother, and we will try to do our best. Sophie's the one girl in the world to me, and yet I love you just the same. But the sweetest of all is having the girl glad to come to you."
After Père Fischer had given them a second blessing and gone, with some of the elders, old Billy Griffin came in with his violin, and we had some dancing, with plenty of cake and a kind of cordial made out of spiced fruits, that was quite harmless.
Dan had come in and seemed a good deal interested. I danced with him, but Sophie said it was long and short division. I was still growing and almost as tall as Sophie.
After that we began to plan for the wedding outfit. The night of her betrothal Mrs. Piaget had given Sophie her string of gold beads. She had one of not very choice pearls, but pretty, I thought, which would be Nanette's, six of her silver teaspoons, three tablespoons with the mark of a Paris silversmith on them, and some quaint china dishes, as well as a fine pewter basin. Then there was a cream silk gown with dainty flowers sprinkled over it, some of her mother's youthful finery, that would be made over into the wedding gown.