“You sweet thing!” cried Patty, flinging her arms round her friend’s neck. “Christine dear, you know I’m not much good at sentimental expressions, but I do want to wish you such a heap of joy that you’ll just almost break down under it!”
Christine smiled back into Patty’s honest eyes, and realised the loving friendship that prompted the words.
“Patty,” she said, “I can’t begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me this past year, but I thank you most,”—here she blushed, and whispered shyly,—“because you didn’t want him, yourself!”
“Oh, Christine!” said Patty, “I do want him, something dreadful! I shall just pine away the rest of my sad life because I can’t have him! But you wrested him from me, and I give him to you with my blessing!” And then Patty went away, and Christine smiled, knowing that Patty’s words were merely jesting, and knowing too, with a heart full of content, that Gilbert Hepworth really wanted her, and not the radiant, mischievous Patty.
Promptly at four o’clock, the old, well-known music sounded forth, and Patty came slowly downstairs. Her gown was of white chiffon, over pink chiffon, and fell in soft, shimmering draperies, that looked like classic simplicity, but were in reality rather complicated. Christine had designed both their gowns, and they were marvels of beauty. On Patty’s head was perched a coquettish little cap of the style most approved for bridesmaids, and she carried a clustered spray of pink roses. As she entered the drawing-room, intent on walking correctly in time to the music, she chanced to glance up, and saw Bill Farnsworth’s blue eyes fixed upon her. Unthinkingly, she gave him a radiant smile, and then, with the pink in her cheeks deepened a little, she went on her way toward the group of palms, where the wedding party would stand.
Not even the bride herself looked prettier than Patty; though Christine was very sweet, in her soft white chiffon, her misty veil, and her shower bouquet of white flowers, which she had expressly requested should be without ribbons.
Only the more intimate friends had been invited to the ceremony, but immediately after, the house was filled with the reception guests. Patty was in gay spirits, which was not at all unusual for that young woman. She fluttered about everywhere, like a big pink butterfly, but ever and again hovering back to Christine, to caress her, and, as she expressed it, “To keep up her drooping spirits.” Christine had never entirely overcome her natural shyness, and being the centre of attraction on this occasion greatly embarrassed her, and she was glad of Patty’s gay nonsense to distract attention from herself.
Kenneth Harper was best man, and, as he told Patty, the responsibility of the whole affair rested on himself and her. “We’re really of far greater importance than the bride and groom,” he said; “and they depend on us for everything. Have you the confetti all ready, Patty?”
“Yes, of course; do you have to go to the train with them, Ken?”