Springing to her feet, Grace hurried to the door. "Here's your expressman," she laughed, as she reappeared, her arm linked in that of Nora Wingate.
"Good morning, Nora," greeted Mrs. Harlowe. Rising, she advanced to Nora, kissing her with evident affection. "We were wondering what had become of you. We haven't seen you since we came home."
"Hippy and I went away for the week end. We returned only this morning. I was anxious to see you both, also Grace's wedding finery, so I came over bright and early."
"We brought it all back with us, except my wedding gown, Nora. I'm expecting that at almost any moment. I'm anxious to try on the whole outfit. Then I'll know how I'm going to look as a bride."
"Oh, you mustn't do that!" exclaimed Nora in horrified tones. "It's dreadfully unlucky. Didn't you know it?"
"I am not superstitious," laughed Grace. "I fail to see why trying on one's wedding gown beforehand should bring bad luck. I am surely going to do it when it comes, just to prove the fallacy of the superstition."
"I wish you wouldn't." Nora's dark brows met in a troubled frown. "Perhaps it is foolish in me to feel like that about it. But I do. I suppose it's because I'm Irish. The daughters of Erin have always been a superstitious lot. Don't ever tell Hippy that I admitted even that much. He would tease me for a week about it."
"It shall remain a dark secret," gayly assured Grace. "As it is, I may continue to consider myself as lucky till the gown puts in an appearance. After that, look out for trouble. You'd better stay to luncheon to-day, Nora, so as to be here when the great trying-on moment dawns."
"Thank you. I will." Nora's lately-clouded face brightened. "I'll leave Hippy to lunch in solitary state. I'll telephone him to that effect. It will teach him to appreciate his blessings." Nora dimpled roguishly as she tripped to the hall to acquaint Hippy with the fell prospect in store for him. She returned to the living-room with the mirthful information: "He says he resigns himself to his fate, but that he will prepare for my triumphal home-coming this evening. That means he will do something ridiculous. The last time I left him to his own folly, he decorated the dining-room with all sorts of absurd signs—'What is home without the Irish?' 'In memory of my late lamented guardian,' and 'Not gone for good, but merely gadding.'" Nora giggled as she recounted these pleasant tokens of welcome.
"You and Hippy will never grow up," Mrs. Harlowe declared indulgently. "You play at keeping house like two children."