“Let me tell you more. If I am the one to be married next, then none of the rest of you will ever be married. So you may practice your Irish airs and play them to me, Phil, for my wedding day is like an Irish myth, something that will never come true.”
“Such a cheerful prediction,” commented Robin Page.
“Is it not?” beamed Leila.
“You really can’t expect us to take you seriously, you know,” Helen said with regretful scepticism.
“I expect nothing else except that you will be making me a sad lot of future trouble by teasing me on all occasions. I shall soon have no comfort at all, at all,” Leila made rueful forecast.
“Never mind,” Lucy lightly sympathized. “You have the bouquet. I was hoping I’d catch it, just because it is so beautiful.”
“A fine bunch of posies it is,” Leila lapsed into brogue, “but it’s yourself that may be catching a bridegroom wan of these days, Luciferous, without the catching of the wadding bo-kay.”
“I guess not,” Lucy made vigorous protest. “Oh, there’s Miss Archer.” She bolted from the group with heightened color for a point across the hall where the principal of the Sanford High School stood talking with Mrs. Dean. A subdued ripple of merriment followed her escape from further teasing on Leila’s part. It was privately conceded among her Hamilton chums that President Matthews’ son was in love with Lucy. Whether, or not, Lucy cared for him was a matter for cogitation among them. Never by word or sign had she betrayed, even to Marjorie, anything other than an ordinary friendly interest in the young man.
“Just the same, she blushed,” Vera said triumphantly, laughing eyes following Lucy’s prompt rush across the hall.
“She’ll soon be in line to blush some more. Donald Matthews is here, somewhere about, only Lucy hasn’t yet happened to see him. President and Mrs. Matthews couldn’t come to the wedding on account of a previous engagement at a house party. Lucy took it for granted that Donald wouldn’t be here, either. I didn’t tell her he was coming. She is so—well, you girls know how she is. I was afraid she’d balk at being maid of honor out of pure shyness, no matter how much she cared about it. Lucy cares about Donald. I’m almost positive she does. You see I still know something about everyone even though I’m no longer Jeremiah Macy,” Jerry wound up with a droll air of wisdom.