On the day preceding the important event, Leila and Linnie were running here and there in a state of great excitement. They were for once thoroughly interested in everything, and especially in their own toilettes, if not in the bride’s, for they were to be two of the four bride’s-maids. Mrs. Forest had determined that everything relating to this event should be “respectable,” and she always pronounced the word with severe certainty of what it meant. To be sure, to some persons the term is vague and even unpleasant; but these were all ill-regulated minds, according to Mrs. Forest, and she pitied them. After breakfast, Clara made a long visit to Susie, cheered her by earnest protestations of continued friendship, and by promises to write often. The pretty baby was duly petted and caressed, and invited to “kiss auntie”—words of recognition always infinitely sweet to Susie’s ear. The kissing consisted in the baby’s smobbing its uneasy little wet mouth over Clara’s face; not a very satisfactory operation, one would think; but all the tender grace of the woman that had been developed by Clara’s brave friendship for poor Susie, and by the deep love she cherished for Albert, shone through the halo of happiness surrounding the brow of the morrow’s bride.
The wedding-day dawned auspiciously, and the sun shone bright and warm, though it was the middle of January. A full hour before the ceremony, the twins had the bride dressed and paraded duly before the mirrors, to see that her drapery fell with the proper grace, and that nothing was wanting. Mrs. Kendrick had sent quantities of flowers for the decoration of the parlor, and was herself to be present. Louise, finding that the affair was going to be so “nice,” cried with vexation that she had behaved so meanly to Clara.
Mrs. Forest came in just as the bride was dressed.
“Does she not look sweet, mamma,” asked Linnie.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Forest, hesitatingly; “but you are too flushed, my daughter. Let me see if your corset is not too tight. No? Well, Linnie, get her some lemonade—that is cooling.”
“Oh don’t, mamma! you distract me!” exclaimed Clara, scowling under her orange-blossoms. “I do wish no one could look at me for the next ten years. I feel so like a theatre-queen—so utterly ridiculous.”
Mrs. Forest was distressed. The twins uttered exclamations. “Why, she has not said such a word before!” said Linnie.
“No; I meant to be very good, and what mamma calls sensible, but I am so horridly nervous.”
“You are such an incomprehensible child,” remarked Mrs. Forest, severely. “You are veritably sauvage, as the French say. This, the supreme hour to all well-regulated young ladies, you seem to regard as a misfortune.”
“Well, I do. I suppose I am not a well-regulated young lady, for I hate the hot-house odor of these flowers. I hate myself, that I have submitted to make a spectacle of myself. This is the supreme hour for girls, is it? Well, I wonder that they have no more refinement.”