Mary came in with a dish of fruit. Everyone went on so placidly.... She thought of the perfect set of her white silk bridesmaid’s dress, its freshness, its clear apple green pipings, the little green leaves and fresh pink cluster roses on the white chip hat. If the shower bouquets did not come it would be simply ghastly. And everybody went on chattering.
She leaned anxiously across the table to Harriett.
“Oo—what’s up?” asked Harriett.
Conversation had dropped. Miriam sat up to fling out her grievances.
“Well—just this. I’m told Gerald said the people would send a line to say it was all right, and they haven’t written, and so far as I can make out nothing’s been done.”
“Bouquets would appear to be one of the essentials of the ceremony,” hooted Mr. Henderson.
“Well, of course,” retorted Miriam savagely, “if you have a dress wedding at all. That’s the point.”
“Quite so, my dear, quite so. I was unaware that you were depending on a message.”
“I’m not anxious. It’s simply silly, that’s all.”
“It’ll be all right,” suggested Harriett, looking into space. “They’d have written.”