“And you’re so different, too. Never in my life would I have imagined you having a wedding like this—and yet it’s been absolutely the prettiest one I ever saw. That’s a sweet gown to go away in—but it’s the simplest thing you ever wore, I’m sure. Juliet, where are you going?”
“We are going to drive through the Berkshires in a cart.”
“Juliet Marcy!”
“‘Robeson,’” corrected Juliet with a little laugh, but in a tone which it was a pity Anthony could not hear. “Don’t forget that. I’m so proud of the name. And I think a drive through the Berkshires will be a perfectly ideal trip.”
Judith Dearborn was not assisting the bride at all. Instead she was sitting in a chair, staring at Juliet with much the same abstraction of manner observable in the best man throughout the day.
“Of course you didn’t need to live this way,” observed Miss Dearborn at length. “You could have afforded to live much more expensively.”
“No, I couldn’t,” said Juliet with a flash in her eyes, though she smiled; “I couldn’t have afforded to do one thing that would hurt Tony’s pride. Why, Judith—he’s a ‘Robeson of Kentucky.’”
“Well, he looks it,” admitted Judith. “And you’re a Marcy of Massachusetts. The two go well together. Juliet, do you know—somehow—I thought it was a fearful sacrifice you were making, even for such a man as Anthony—but—this blue-and-white room——”
“Ah, this blue-and-white room——” repeated Juliet. Then she came over and dropped on her knees by her friend in her impulsive way and put both arms around her. The plain little going-away gown touched folds with the one whose elegance was equalled only by its cost. Anthony Robeson’s wife looked straight up into the eyes of her maid-of-honour and whispered:
“Judith, don’t put Wayne—and—your blue-and-white room off too long. You will not be any happier to wait—if you love him.”