Mrs. Van Alyn made a similar offer, much to Mrs. Hewlett's disgust. "Does she think you have no kindred?" demanded the incensed old dame.
"It seems to me," said Jessamy, discussing the matter in a private family conclave, "that it would be more dignified, besides being far sweeter and lovelier, to be married from our own little home, and not from any one's house, no matter how dear or how nearly related to us she might be. No one can understand just what this flat meant to us when we began it so courageously, and so ignorantly of all we had to learn and do. I, for one, should be happier married from it than from anywhere else in the world; it would be mean to turn our backs on it for the greatest event of our lives, for which it has prepared us, and which began for us—I mean found us out—here. Then it is our home, and I don't like borrowed plumage, even an aunt's house. I think we ought to be our very selves, most of all at such a time. If Bab agrees, I should prefer having our friends come here to welcome us and wish us well after the ceremony; and I should like a wedding suited to this sort of living—suited to our means, in a word, though our means have increased lately."
"That's crystal Jessamy all over," cried Bab, warmly. "You know, for my part, I loathe show functions. It's much more refined and dignified to use one's own home, and cut your garment according to your cloth—no, cut your friends according to your space. Who wants a crowd, anyway? I detest big weddings."
"Of course I should prefer it," said Mrs. Wyndham. "Why not be married quietly at the church, with only the immediate families of Tom and Rob and our own present? Then serve a breakfast to the same people, with the addition of most intimate friends, and go away? A caterer could contrive a table in this room to seat all we should ask under this arrangement."
"As far as I am concerned," said Tom, "the less the merrier. I know Bob thinks so. All young men hate being married, and would like to sneak."
"I should say I did think so!" cried Rob. "My honest opinion is that the only decent way to be married is to escape on a rope ladder out of a back window, with no one but the parson and the necessary witnesses the wiser."
"Dear me!" laughed Jessamy. "I really do not think I should enjoy the ladder. Then it is settled; a quiet church wedding, no one present but our own relatives, a breakfast not much larger attended, and then rush for the carriage, with rice and an old shoe to follow, and that's all."
"We are not going to have a stylish wedding—dear me, that sounds like 'Daisy Bell,' doesn't it?—so let's have a pretty one—original, I mean," said Phyllis. "Instead of conventional flowers, let's trim our rooms here with jasmine and barberries; they are ripe now, and they would really be wonderfully pretty, and the decorations would be Jessamy's and Barbara's names written everywhere in white and red."
"What a pretty idea, Phyl!" said Rob; "but where would you get the barberries?"
"Send an order to a Boston florist; the berries grow abundantly in New England, and he could get them for us," said Phyllis.