It was the first wedding in which Marjorie had taken a part more important than that of guest. Constance was also the first one of the Lookouts to be married. So thoroughly impressed was she with Constance and Laurie, she gave no special thought to Hal. He was wondering with might and main if Marjorie might possibly awaken to love as a result of the marriage of the best friend of each of them. Hal had learned his lesson, however, on the night of the dance he and Jerry had given. He had then understood definitely that Marjorie wished to keep far away from any sentiment for him deeper than friendship. He was resolved to keep to this plane, no matter how bitterly it grieved him. He would never give Marjorie up as his prospective wife until he heard from her own lips that she did not love him. Still, he would never again make the faintest approach toward sentiment unless he saw for himself that it was not distasteful to her. He had set a hard task for himself. He was determined to carry it through. Boyishly, he told himself that if ever he asked Marjorie to marry him and she refused him, he would never marry.
The ceremony over, Constance was passed from one to another of her dear ones, while Laurie received the firm handclasps of his men friends. As the hands of Hal and Laurie met, their eyes exchanged glances. In Laurie’s was untold sympathy. In Hal’s was an expression which might have been either fortitude or proud resignation. Laurie could not judge which. He could only hope, as he had recently told Constance, that Marjorie would wake up some day to what a real prince old Hal was.
Solemnity, even momentary, could not long survive the unique presence of Charlie Stevens. Hardly had the first congratulations been extended when Charlie loudly expressed himself to Marjorie.
“I was going to marry you myself, Marj’rie, but I sha’n’t. You’re a good deal too tall and old to make me a nice wife,” he pleasantly observed. “That’s quite a pretty dress you’ve got on. Someone else, maybe someone as tall as Laurie or Hal might like to marry you—someday. I wouldn’t. I like you, Marj’rie, ’bout the best of all, next to Connie and Mary Raymond, but I’d rather stay at home with Uncle John than get married.”
“I think it is just as well you changed your mind, Charlie.” Marjorie joined in the laughter at her expense. Her color had deepened a trifle at Charlie’s hopeful prophecy that someone as tall as Hal might like to marry her some day.
“I think so, too,” Charlie agreed importantly. “I may get married when I’m about a hundred. I’ll be a good deal taller then. I and my wife will come to your house to see Delia and have her give us some choc’lit cake.”
Well satisfied with this plan, he trotted off after his idol, Uncle John Roland, who could not look at Connie without tears. He had left the group gathered about the bridal couple until he was again able to control his emotions.
Laurie and Constance had elected to spend a week’s honeymoon in the Armitages’ New York home, which Laurie had been preparing for his bride for three months before their marriage. From there they would sail for Europe. They were to leave Sanford on the eleven o’clock express for New York.
Constance’s last act before changing her wedding dress for travel attire was to throw her bouquet from the open staircase down among her girl friends. Muriel Harding captured it, thereby bringing down upon herself plenty of good-natured raillery. Marjorie had tried with the others to catch the bouquet, as a matter of sport. She was secretly glad when it fled past her and almost into Muriel’s hands. While she had taken the utmost interest in Connie’s wedding, she did not wish to be reminded, even by a fragrant floral sign, that somewhere in the future lurked a wedding day for herself.