“Mrs. Rogers,” Godfrey repeated. “I don’t mean that woman. It’s the girl in the cab, with the bright hair and blue eyes, and the prettiest face I ever saw. I wish she’d look out again.”
“That must be Gertie Westbrooke, Mrs. Rogers’s daughter,” Edith said. “She is very pretty, I believe, though I have never seen her distinctly.”
“Pretty! I should think she was! Why, she’s beautiful. I wish Bob Macpherson could see that face and paint it. He went off this morning to find some friends of his, but he’ll be back to the wedding. He is an artist I found in Rome. You are sure to like him. I must go now. Good-by, mother that is to be.”
He kissed her fondly, and then hurried out to see again the face in the cab. Very curiously he gazed at the child, whose little fat hands went up to the eyes, ostensibly to push back the stray locks of auburn hair, but really to hide the blushing face. How pretty they looked as they lay like white rose leaves against the mass of bright wavy hair, and how Godfrey deplored the absence of Robert Macpherson, and wished he were himself a painter as he walked away, carrying with him that image of Gertie Westbrooke, with the shy, timid look on her face, the bright hair veiling her soft blue eyes and the white hands brushing back the hair.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE BRIDAL.
Mary Rogers had been in the country for several weeks and had written to Mrs. Barrett that she was to return to London sooner than she had intended, as Gertie was not very well and needed the advice of her physician. To this Mrs. Barrett had at once replied, telling of the approaching marriage and asking Mrs. Rogers to defer her return as long as possible, as Miss Lyle was at home and occupying Gertie’s room. Accompanying this letter to Mrs. Rogers was one from Norah Long, who also told of the expected marriage of Colonel Schuyler with Miss Lyle, and the breakfast to be given at Oakwood, and then added that as both the colonel and Miss Lyle wished her to accompany them to America, she had decided to do so, provided her cousin Mary, to whom she was strongly attached, would go too. Colonel Schuyler owned several cottages, he said, and Mary could have one, if she liked, at a low rent.
Two days before the receipt of this letter Mrs. Rogers had heard of the failure of the bank where her money was invested, and knew that henceforth she must earn her own living. This she could do better in America, and after due reflection she wrote to Norah that she would go, and started for London the next day, intending to take up her abode in the vicinity of Oakwood until the time for sailing. And that is how the cab came to be standing at Mrs. Barrett’s door. Gertie did not alight, but waited while Mrs. Rogers explained to Mrs. Barrett the change in her circumstances and plans, and said that she would come in a few days and take her things away. Mingled with Mrs. Barrett’s exultation at her daughter’s good fortune there had been more than one feeling of loneliness and desolation as she thought of being alone in her old age, even if that old age was to be well provided for, as Colonel Schuyler had promised. But there was one comfort left her in little Gertie Westbrooke, whom, with Mary Rogers, she meant to keep as long as possible. She was not fond of children, but no one could resist the bright, sunny little girl who filled the house with so much life and gladness, and whose feet and hands were always ready for some act of kindness. And Mrs. Barrett loved the beautiful child with a strong, intense love, which she could not define, unless it was that the child loved her and hung about her neck with soft caresses and words of love. And now she was going away,—and the woman’s heart was heavy as lead, and there were traces of tears on her face as she went about her usual work and thought of the desolate future with Gertie Westbrooke gone.
Owing to Mrs. Sinclair’s health Edith had not visited her mother very often during the past year, and had never met Gertie face to face, so she was only sorry for her mother in a general kind of way when she heard that she was to be left alone. She was very much occupied with her own affairs, and Colonel Schuyler and Godfrey took all her leisure time. The colonel came every other day, Godfrey every day, and between them both she had little time for reflection, but was hurried on toward the end, which approached so fast, until at last the very day had come, a soft, warm August day, when the sky seemed to smile in anticipation of the bridal, and the whole earth to laugh for joy. And Edith felt happy and glad and peaceful as she dressed herself for the occasion, and with her mother and Norah Long, her waiting-maid, started for the church near Oakwood, where her bridegroom waited for her, and where just a few of the late Mrs. Sinclair’s friends were assembled. Thanks to Godfrey and Robert Macpherson, who had returned from visiting his friends, the little church was decked with flowers, and Edith stood under a canopy of roses as she pledged her troth a second time, and was made Mrs. Howard Schuyler. Just to the right of the chancel, and where they could command a good view of everything, Mary Rogers sat, and with her Gertie Westbrooke. It was the child’s first sight of a wedding, and when that morning Mary had said to her, “Gertie, how would you like to go to church to-day and see Miss Lyle married?” she had clapped her hands for joy, and could scarcely eat her breakfast for thinking and talking of the wonderful wedding.
“Don’t they sometimes throw a bouquet at the bride’s feet?” she asked.