"Pray, why not?"
"Because it is dangerous to themselves to show their teeth if they cannot bite, and they cannot. Women in this country are helpless as babies."
"Then there are other countries."
"Hush! This is uncanny talk. What a pretty suit! Are you going to wear it to-day?"
"Yes, it is a spring suit, and this is a lovely spring morning. I heard the robins singing as you came upstairs."
"Mother has gone to order the wedding cake—you ought to be a happy woman, Christina."
"I am—and yet, Isabel, life will be bare without you. All my life long you have been my comfort, and I love you, yes, I love you dearly, Isabel."
"And I love you, Christina. I shall miss you every hour of the day."
Then they were both silent, they had said all they could say, and much more than was usual. Christina finished her toilet, and Isabel sat watching her, then they clasped hands and walked downstairs together, and so to the front door, which Jepson opened as Christina approached it. For a few moments Isabel stood there and watched her sister enter the waiting carriage, and felt well repaid when Christina, as the horses moved, fluttered her white handkerchief in a parting salute.
Mrs. Campbell returned in time for lunch. She had quite recovered her dignity, and was indeed more than usually vaunting and exultant. "I have ordered a cake twice the ordinary size," she said, "and the small boxes, and the narrow white ribbon, in which to send friends not present at the ceremony a portion. It will be a labor to tie them up, and direct them, but there will be a house full to help you. When will your dress be done, Isabel?"