“That would be a pity.”
“Yes, but I must have Irene.”
Mary Louise had always said if she ever married she would have her dear friend as maid of honor and Irene had felt a fierce pride in the fact that she was chosen. She realized the moment the plan was suggested of having the ceremony out of doors that this honor was not to be hers. She could run her chair with great skill on smooth floors but she felt it would be awkward indeed to try to do it in the garden and then she felt that in some way she would mar the picture. She too could close her eyes and see the effect of the outdoor wedding with the old yew hedge as a background and the beds of old-fashioned flowers adding to the beauty of the scene; the bride in white and the eight bridesmaids in the pastel shades suggested by Hortense Markle.
“It will be beautiful and I must quietly get out of the picture,” Irene said to herself. It hurt her to think of it. The girl was sure she would never marry herself, nobody would ever want to marry such a poor little deformed person. She had settled that long ago, but it would have been pleasant to be the next one to the bride. Even that pleasure must be taken from her and she herself must be the one to put it away. She looked sadly after the girls as they trooped into the garden to join Mary Louise and Mrs. Markle.
“If she only had not suggested the outdoor wedding!” she sighed. “But I must not harbor resentment against Mrs. Markle. She is charming and so clever. Instead I must try to like her. I wish I could sew as well as she can.”
She picked up the dainty camisole whereon Hortense had embroidered the exquisite rose and examined it closely. She took from her basket a little magnifying glass she occasionally made use of in doing very fine embroidery. Through the glass she could see where the patch had been inserted.
“I must not look at people through a magnifying glass,” she mused. “If it magnified their perfections it would be all right, but it seems only to show up their faults. I have shown a poor spirit myself this morning, and if I turned the magnifying glass on my own soul, it would disclose many ugly patches and gashes.” She put her hand over her eyes and offered a silent prayer for a just and contrite spirit.
When the girls came back from the garden, they found Irene with a smile on her sensitive face and on her lips a gay little tune she was humming.
“I do hope you have decided to have the wedding out of doors,” she cried. “If it is out of doors, I can see it too, as I will be a spectator. From my chair I can see the procession as it comes through the yew hedge and follows the garden walk.”
“But, Irene—” began Mary Louise.