Wythie and Rob had lain down for a little talk, in the old fashion, on the bed they had shared from childhood. The little talk lengthened out into a longer one than they realized; Mrs. Grey startled them by warning them that it lacked but fifteen minutes to eight o'clock, and that Rob would surely be late.
Wythie helped her to dress in a hurry, just as Rob had always dressed. It was very like old times. Rob could not realize that this was Mrs. Rutherford, not Wythie Grey, helping her, and that her own days of girlhood were numbered.
Frances and Lester came, and Mrs. Baldwin and her husband, to the sound of whose voice Rob's heart went out as she heard it, for he had been her father's chum, and she longed for her "Patergrey's" blessing that night. Hester, Cousin Peace, little Polly, Myrtle, good old Dr. Fairbairn—the sisters recognized these as the knocker repeatedly sounded and the guests came in.
"Only Bartlemy and Prue lacking! If only Prudy could have been as comfortable and conformable as we, Wythie!" said Rob as Wythie dropped over her beautiful hair the white skirt which she was so late in donning.
"It will be all right as it is, Rob dear. We won't regret anything to-night," said Wythie. "But it would have been lovely to have been the three Mrs. Rutherfords!"
"Well, we each could have been only one of them," said Rob. "Just hook my collar for me, Wythiekins, and then run down, for it makes me seem much later when I keep you up here, too."
Wythie did as she was asked, altered a pin in her sister's hair, laid against its unruly beauty the ferns and buds which Bruce had brought her, fell back to look at the effect, and found it so satisfactory that she seized Rob in an ecstatic embrace and then flew down-stairs, remembering for the first time that this had been intended to be her triumph through Basil's genius, and that nobody thought of the novel now.
Rob lingered for some last touches, then looked long and steadily at herself in the glass, holding up the hand that wore upon it the diamond which had been Bruce's mother's. Then she kissed the ring, and leaning forward, kissed the girl in the glass: "Because Bruce loves you, my dear Rob," she whispered. Then she went slowly down-stairs. There was no one there who was not familiarly dear to her, yet she hesitated on the lower step, half shy and frightened. Some one caught a glimpse of her, and said "Here's Rob!" The conversation ceased, and Bruce sprang forward to lead her in. They halted in the doorway, and the loving eyes of her kindred and friends fell on Rob. They saw a tall young creature, all in white, beautiful colour coming and going in the oval cheeks, great, flashing brown eyes ready to laugh or to cry, the sweet, sensitive, coaxing short upper lip quivering, a creature all compounded of mirth and love and tears. Not Prue in all her regal beauty could have looked as Rob looked at that moment.
The Grey mother's heart went out to her in a throb that included all the child's merry, impetuous ways, the young girl's chivalrous courage, the dead father's reliance and help, and, later, the sweet, cheerful, brave, high-minded young woman upon whom she herself had leaned since her day of widowhood, went out in unspeakable love and pride to Rob.