“Well, we must do the best we can for them,” replied the lady, and she turned her attention to other matters—to the details of Odalite’s simple trousseau, which was only to consist now in a white silk wedding dress, a gray poplin traveling dress, a navy-blue cloth suit for the voyage across the ocean, and a few plain, home dresses and wrappers, with plenty of underclothing.
All the preparations were completed on the morning of the thirtieth. Even Odalite’s trunk was packed, nothing being left out but her bridal dress and traveling suits.
Just before tea on the afternoon of the thirtieth, there was the expected inroad of the Goths and Vandals, in the forms of the young people from Oldfield, Grove Hill and Forest Rest.
They all traveled by the same train and arrived at the same hour—a laughing, talking, hilarious, uproarious troupe.
They were met with a joyous and affectionate welcome.
“And where is my little Rosemary? Where is my quaint, small, young woman?” inquired Roland, when he had shaken hands with all the rest.
“Why, here she is! Here she has been all the while!” exclaimed Wynnette, dragging the shy girl forward.
“What! not that tall young lady? Miss Hedge, I beg ten thousand pardons. I was looking for a little girl I used to ride on my shoulder!” exclaimed Roland, in affected dismay, as he took her tiny hand and raised it to his lips.
Now, Rosemary was not tall, except in comparison to what she had once been. Rosemary was still small and slight—“a mere slip of a girl,” as every one called her. She colored and cast down her eyes when her old friend pretended to treat her as a young lady.
He saw her slight distress and vexation, and immediately changed his tune.