Miss Lucy was reading the Colonel's note, which Dr. Dudley had given her. She ended it with a silent chuckle, and the Doctor passed it over to Mrs. Jocelyn.
"Just like David!" the little lady declared. "He enjoys a bit of quiet fun as well as any man I ever knew."
Polly had gone back to her present, hanging over it in delight.
"It is just the right kind of watch for a little girl like you," admired the Doctor; "neither too large nor too ornamental."
"It is beautiful!" sighed Polly rapturously. "Is n't Colonel Gresham nice to give it to me?"
The Doctor smiled an emphatic "Yes," which rejoiced Polly's heart. She had been afraid he would shake his head, as he had shaken it over the touring-car. In that case, she reasoned conscientiously, she should have felt as if she ought to give back her watch.
It was a six-o'clock wedding. The bridal procession formed at the foot of the stairs in the spacious hallway, marching its length, and then proceeding through the east drawing-room to the library, where the ceremony took place under a canopy of roses. A troop of children attended the ride, children to whom, as nurse of the convalescent ward, she had at some time ministered. The girls, two and two, gowned in silken chiffon of harmonious colors, had each a basket heaped with blossoms. Polly and Leonora came last of all, both in delicate pink, from the ribbons that bound their hair to the tops of their kid slippers, Leonora's black braids in happy contrast with Polly's fair curls. The boys, clad as pages, ranged, at regular intervals, on either side of the long line, carried light arches of vines and flowers, making a fragrant arbor for the others to walk under.
The brief service over, the flower girls strewed roses in the path of the bridal pair all the way to the great west drawing-room.
It was like a queen's pageant in a vision of fairyland. The myriad lights, the gaily dressed children, the lavish profusion of flowers, the soft music floating from a bank of ferns,—all united to make the scene unusually dreamlike and beautiful.
As the bride stood to receive her guests, in her simple white silk gown, the necklace of pearly her only ornament, Polly gazed into her sweet, thoughtful face, and longed to throw her arms around her neck and give her a loving hug. But she had to be content with only one little decorous kiss, and she consoled herself with the words that had been singing in her heart all the day, "She is going to be my mother! She is going to be my mother!"