“Of course Nellie’s wonderfully capable; she and Lilla have taken almost all the worry on their shoulders, haven’t they? I never could have struggled alone with that immense list of invitations. But still I don’t think you ought to assume that everything’s settled. After all, there are only three days left! And no one seems to have even begun to think who’s going to take you up the aisle....”
“Up the aisle?” Mrs. Clephane echoed blankly.
“Well, yes, my dear. There is an aisle at St. Stephen’s,” Enid Drover chirped with one of her rare attempts at irony. “And of course Hendrik must take up the bride, and you must be there, ready to receive her and give her away....”
“Give her away?”
“Hadn’t you thought of that either?” Mrs. Drover’s little laugh had a tinge of condescension. Though all the family had conspired to make Mrs. Clephane forget that she had lived for nearly twenty years outside the social pale, the fact remained; she had. And it was on just such occasions as this that she betrayed it, somewhat embarrassingly to her sister-in-law. Not even to know that, when a bride’s father was dead, it was her mother who gave her away!
“You didn’t expect Hendrik to do it?” Mrs. Drover rippled on, half compassionate, half contemptuous. It was hard to understand how some people contrived to remain in ignorance of the most elementary rules of behaviour!
“Hendrik—well, why shouldn’t he?” Kate Clephane said.
Anne was passing through the room, a pile of belated presents in her arms.
“Do you hear, my dear? Your uncle Hendrik will be very much flattered.” Mrs. Drover’s little eyes grew sharp with the vision of Hendrik’s broad back and glossy collar playing the leading part in the ceremony. “The bride was given away by her uncle, Mr. Hendrik Drover, of—” It really would read very well.
“Flattered about what?” Anne paused to question.