But surely she would not have the hardihood to attend the wedding, said everybody. It would be a sensation if she did that, certainly.
But Ethel gave them the sensation. She went to church with the bride, as maid of honor, she smiled at the bridegroom when the ceremony was over; but while people were saying it was a wonder she went to the church she knew in her heart that she would rather have gone to the stake.
How slowly the time went, how wearisome the reception, how could they all seem so smiling and happy, she thought again and again until it was all over, and Precious had put off her bridal white for her traveling gown and was saying her farewells.
Kay was going too, Precious could not leave him, she declared; and indeed her pet would have been inconsolable. So the beautiful lion-like fellow went into the carriage with his mistress, who sobbed bitterly as her father leaned in at the door for a second farewell.
"Half my life seems going with you, darling," he sighed.
"I shall bring her back to you in the summer for a visit," promised happy Arthur Chester.
"And we will stay at dear old Rosemont," declared Precious; and the last glimpse they had of the fair young face was wreathed in smiles, though the eyes were violets drowned in tears.
The carriages rolled away with Arthur and Precious, Earle and Ladybird, and there was only Ethel left now—Ethel standing by her mother's side, tall and queenly in her bridesmaid's gown, but pale, and with tears in her burning eyes. Mrs. Winans had been sobbing on her husband's shoulder, but now she went to the solitary figure and clasped her in her arms.
"We have only you left, dear one; we will have to love you more than ever; will we not, Paul?" she murmured, but with a stifled exclamation he left the room. In his heart there was no forgiveness for his heartless daughter.