Ushers, khaki-clad, passed ceaselessly up and down the aisles, wearing a manner of mixed hauteur and nervousness. They showed the effect of too much prenuptial and anti-prohibition entertainment. Groups of guests gathered, argued, accepted the places provided with scantily veiled distaste, and became part of the general unrest. Few there were who regarded marriage in the light of a spiritual concept, nor was it easy to see in these exotic social episodes any striving towards an æsthetic ideal. On the contrary, two young people came together, drained the moment of its last dram of pleasure, and separated—if not in a physical sense, certainly in a spiritual one, seeking amusement elsewhere, and with hectic sedulousness.
The family of the bride persistently referred to the spectacle as “simple”, and endeavoured to preserve the illusion of economy throughout. This was a War Wedding.
A jungle of palms crowded the chancel and reared their feathered heads against the pillars of the Church. Masses of yellow tulips and daffodils suggested the simplicity of spring. Some twenty pews on either side of the centre aisle were barricaded against intrusion by plain silken cords instead of the richer bands of ribbon that ordinarily would have been used to separate those who had presented gifts in ridiculous excess of their means and affection, from those who had blessed the happy pair with sugar spoons and bon-bon dishes. Even the gowns of the women—according to their own description—harmonised with the note of rigid simplicity that prevailed. Mrs. Long, securely imprisoned by the yellow silken cord, smiled as she watched the procession, for she had seen—by the merest accident—Miss Caplin’s advance copy on the function. Miss Caplin was the Society editress of The Chronicle. “The mother of the bride wore a rich but simple creation of dove-grey radium satin, panelled with bands of solid grey pearls. The sleeves were formed of wings that fell to the hem of the gown and were made of dyed rose point. Mrs. Carmichael’s hat was of grey tulle with no trimming save a simple bird of Paradise.”
That was the sort of thing she had been instructed to say.
Mrs. Blaine passed in review. She was gowned in a black crepe meteor, with bands of rhinestones forming the corsage, and she wore a hat of uncurled ostrich feathers.
Mrs. Pratt’s idea of economy was expressed by a royal purple chiffon velvet, trimmed with ornaments of amethyst and pearl.
Lady Elton had managed to pick up an imported creation at a figure that was reduced no more than her own, but she called it a “simple frock” of Delft georgette over silver cloth. Owing to some unfortunate confusion in the composing room, a few lines reporting work on the Civic Playgrounds crept into the account of the wedding, and the following extraordinary announcement appeared:
“Lady Elton looked exceptionally charming in a dull blue chiffon over three lavatories and two swimming baths.”
A trembling usher, green-white from fatigue and dissipation, bowed Mr. and Mrs. Hudson into the pew. Mrs. Long’s practised eye noted that the latter wore a sapphire charmeuse, relieved by old Honiton and showing a motif of fleur-de-lys done in hand embroidery.
“I don’t know whether I’m all here or not,” panted Mrs. Hudson. “Such a scramble at the last minute!”