“Don’t but Irene me,” laughed the girl. “As for bridesmaids: they are like the purple cow to me, ‘I’d rather see than be one.’ Let me be a kind of vestal virgin, stationed near the altar.”
“But I have always said that I would have no maid of honor but you,” declared Mary Louise, “and I won’t.”
“You shall have to swallow your words then, my dear,” insisted Irene.
“If not a maid, you might have a matron,” suggested Hortense.
“Certainly,” agreed Irene.
“Nobody could take the place of Irene,” objected Mary Louise.
“But, honey, a place in a wedding procession is not a place in your heart,” whispered Irene, drawing her friend close to her.
“I have heard brides say that, unless they have an attendant, the thing is hard to go through with,” said Hortense. “Of course you might go on your grandfather’s arm, but it is not quite so picturesque as having all girls. Black coats, when all is told, are ugly affairs.”
“Grandpa Jim would rather not be too much in evidence, I think. The truth of the matter is he is afraid he might get stage fright. He says it is hard enough on him to have to give me away. Will you be my matron of honor, Hortense?”
“But, my dear, you must have closer and dearer friends than I am among the young married people. Nobody who loves you more, but—”