And then, as she brushed out the long, golden hair, she thought how few brides showed Sigrid’s wonderful unselfishness and care for others, and somehow wished that Roy could have seen her just as she was, in her working-day apron, too full of household arrangements to spend much time over her own toilet.
Swanhild, already dressed in her white cashmere and pretty white beaver hat, danced in and out of the room fetching and carrying, and before long the bride, too, was dressed, and with her long tulle veil over the dainty little wreath of real orange blossom from Madame Lechertier’s greenhouse, and the homemade dress which fitted admirably, she walked into the little sitting-room to show herself to Frithiof.
“I shall hold up your train, Sigrid, in case the floor is at all dusty,” said Swanhild, much enjoying the excitement of the first wedding in the family, and determined not to think of the parting till it actually came.
Frithiof made an involuntary exclamation as she entered the room.
“You look like Ingeborg,” he said, “when she came into the new temple of Balder.”
“Followed by many a fair attendant maiden,
As shines the moon amid surrounding stars,”
quoted Swanhild in Norse from the old saga, looking roguishly up at her tall brother.
Sigrid laughed and turned to Cecil.
“She says that I am the moon and shine with a borrowed light, and that you are the stars with light of your own. By-the-by, where is my other little bridesmaid?”