"Then, if so, Lady Dellacœur's flowers shall stay at home," said Hilda. She tossed the splendid bouquet on the hall table, and with Judy's holly berries in her hand, sprang into the carriage.
"Isn't she a darling?" said Judy, turning with eyes that glowed in their happiness to Miss Mills.
"A goose, I call her," muttered Miss Mills; but Judy neither heard nor heeded her words.
The little church was nearly full of spectators, and one and all did not fail to remark Judy's wedding present. A bride in white from top to toe—a lovely bride in the tenderest bloom of youth, to carry a bouquet of strong dark green and crimson—had anything so incongruous ever been seen before? But Hilda held the flowers tightly, and Judy's hungry heart was satisfied.
"Good-by, my darling," said Hilda to her little sister a couple of hours later; "good-by, Judy; my first letter shall be to you, and I will carefully keep your dear wedding present."
"Hilda, Hilda, there's a little note inside of it, in the heart of it; you'll read it, won't you, and you won't show it to Jasper?"
"If you wish me not, I won't, dearest. How hot your lips are, Judy, and how flushed your face."
"I am just a wee bit shivery," said Judy, "but it's nothing, nothing at all. I'll promise you not to fret, Hilda. Good-by, dear, dear, darling Hilda."
"Good-by, my sweetest little treasure, good-by."
Hilda got into the carriage; her husband took his place by her side. Mildred Anstruther tossed a great shower of rice after them, Miss Mills and Babs hurled slippers down the avenue, Judy was nowhere to be seen.