"Don't, Leslie!" protested the bride. "You know I do so hate to think of you getting engaged in that sort of horrible way—instead of just because you can't help it! If only there were somebody you could be really in love with——"
"I shall be really rather in love with Uncle Hugh, I know," prophesied the bridesmaid. "What a pity he isn't thirty years younger! Come along. He's waiting. I'm going to kiss him, anyhow. Got your gloves? Right. Got my hankerfish? You won't want to shed any tears into it, but——"
But there was an added brightness in the green-brown eyes of the little bride as she glanced round the girlish room where Leslie would pack up and put everything to rights for her after she had gone.
Impulsively she put her arms round that good chum.
"You've been so—so frightfully sweet to me, Leslie, always. Thanks so awfully——"
"Don't kiss me through a veil, my child!" protested Leslie, drawing back. "D'you want to bring me ill luck?"
"Oh, Leslie! I should want to bring you all the good luck in the world," cried the younger girl, earnestly, over her shoulder as they went out. "If I were given three wishes now for a wedding-present, one of them would be that you would some day be as happy as me!"
"My dear lamb!" said Leslie lightly, running downstairs after her, "How do you know I'm not quite as happy in another—in my own way?"
Gwenna shook the curly head under the orange-blossom wreath and the misty veil. It seemed to her that there was only The One Way in which a woman could be happy.
"And the other two wishes?" suggested Leslie, at the sitting-room door. "What are they?"