“Heaven,” promptly replied Philip. “Anywhere with you would be that.”
There had been plenty of fun in this time of visiting, but some seriousness, too. And now the wedding promised to be as beautiful as Mrs. Van Buskirk wanted it to be for Cathalina.
The night was star-lit, warm, but not stifling, and the June roses in the vases gave the proper atmosphere to the house. Mr. Van Buskirk told the girls, as they gathered downstairs preparatory to the ride to the church, that they did indeed look like “butterfly girls,” with their vari-colored frocks of soft silk and filmy tulle. All the colors were pale, Betty’s frock, blue; Lilian’s, peach; Hilary’s, green; Eloise’s, yellow; Helen’s, orchid; Isabel’s, pink; and Nan’s, lavender. Smiling, girlish faces above these pale shades and the flowers made a charming picture for the bride to look upon as she entered to see the girls before leaving.
They had been talking a little, as they waited these few minutes, but all conversation stopped as Cathalina came in. Graceful and sweet in her white satin, the white veil floating back from where it was caught in a coronet of lace, she was, indeed, their own Cathalina. Betty swallowed a lump and the tears almost came to Hilary’s eyes. “Oh,” said Isabel, “when Captain Van Horne sees you coming down the aisle, he will think it is an angel!”
“Not much of an angel, I’m afraid,” said Cathalina, as she went around and kissed every one. “Come on, everybody,” she said. “I wanted to tell you, and Mother is waiting. Have you my flowers, Father?”
“They have been put in the car, little daughter.”
It seemed only a minute before they were at the church getting ready the little procession which would accompany Cathalina. Philip was best man, and stood at the altar, with Allan Van Horne, wondering how it would seem when he was the groom. He suffered one pang when he thought “what if I haven’t the ring,” but a distinct recollection of putting it in his pocket consoled him. The old minister, too, was waiting, the same minister who had baptized Cathalina and was now to marry her.
Then they came, first, Charlotte Van Buskirk, as flower girl. Betty, as maid of honor; Lilian with Hilary, Eloise with Helen, and Isabel with Nan followed, and the bride on the arm of Philip Senior. Now the hush, the solemn words of the service, and Cathalina Van Horne, with her bridal flowers, walked out of the church on the arm of her husband.
THE END