The present-room was continually thronged by admiring friends who never tired of looking at the beautiful gifts already upon the tables, or watching the opening of new ones.
“There’s the thirteenth cut-glass ice-tub,” said Nan, as she tore the tissue paper wrapping from an exquisite piece of sparkling glass. “I should think it an unlucky number if I didn’t feel sure that one or two more would come yet.”
“What are you going to do with them all, Nan?” asked one of her girl friends; “shall you exchange any of your duplicate gifts?”
“No indeed,” said Nan, “I’m too conservative and old-fashioned to exchange my wedding gifts. I shall keep the whole thirteen, and then when one gets broken, I can replace it with another. Accidents will happen, you know.”
“But not thirteen times, and all ice-tubs!” said Patty, laughing. “You’ll have to use them as individuals, Nan. When you give a dinner party of twelve, each guest can have a separate ice-tub, which will be very convenient.”
“I don’t care,” said Nan, taking the jest good-humouredly, “I shall keep them all, no matter how many I get. And I always did like ice-tubs, anyway.”
Another great excitement was when Nan’s gowns were sent home from the dressmaker’s. Patty was frankly fond of pretty clothes, and she fairly revelled in Nan’s beautiful trousseau. To please Patty, the bride-elect tried them all on, one after another, and each seemed more beautiful than the one before. When at last Nan stood arrayed in her bridal gown, with veil and orange blossoms complete, Patty’s ecstacy knew no bounds.
“You are a picture, Nan!” she cried. “A perfect dream! I never saw such a beautiful bride. Oh, I am so glad you’re coming to live with us, and then I can try on that white satin confection and prance around in it myself.”
They all laughed at this, and Nan exclaimed, in mock reproach:
“I’d like to see you do it, Miss! Prance around in my wedding gown, indeed! Have you no more respect for your elderly and antiquated Stepmamma than that?”