She strolled out of the room, and seating herself on the chair before her own mirror, gave herself into the hands of the waiting maid.
“Now then, Marie, make me look like a sweet young bride.”
Marie looked complacent. It was easy to obey that order, since her mistress was radiant with beauty and happiness, and there lay waiting on the bed a gown, which looked as if it had been blown straight out of a fairy tale for her adornment. The ordinary white satin was far too dull and substantial to have a place in its concoction. It was a mass of cobweb lace of extraordinary antiquity and frailness, mounted on a lining of silver gauze. The fine folds accentuated the reed-like slimness of Grizel’s figure, the misty indefiniteness of shading suited to a marvel the small face, with its white cheeks and amber eyes, that face which was at once so colourless, and so aglow. Marie looking at the reflection in the mirror, pushed aside the cases of jewels, and lifting a piece of tulle swathed it lightly round her mistress’ head, allowing one long end to flow down the back. It was unconventional, it was daring, but the effect was irresistible, and Marie stood aside heaving a sigh of triumph.
“No jewels. Only the gauze. In effect—a veil!”
So it came to pass that when Mr and Mrs Beverley made their entrance into the great drawing-room of the Court, there came to one and all of the assembled guests the impression of a creature half human, half fairy, poised midway between heaven and earth, aglow with that absolute, unshadowed happiness, which is seldom given to mortals to see or to enjoy. It was indeed the primitive note in Grizel’s temperament, which made such a condition possible. The least introspective of mortals, she accepted happiness as manna from heaven, throve on to-day’s supply, and confidently expected the morrow’s supply. The minor trials, which would have dimmed the rapture of another bride, pricked her for the moment, and were then cast aside, and dismissed from thought, as completely as though they had never existed. There were occasions when such abstraction brought about material contretemps, but of the mental lightening there could be no doubt.
Everyone in the room received the same impression of radiance as the bride entered, but on the different minds the impression acted differently. The Vicar’s wife, clad as had been foretold, in black satin and aigretted cap, but showing a pendant of cameo, instead of agate, on the discreet décolletage, felt a sudden unreasoning disposition towards tears, and the good man, her husband, breathed a mental “God keep her!” but the Hon. Mrs Mawson was distinctly shocked. She was the Evangelical magnate whose religion seemed largely to consist in disapproving of other people’s enjoyments, and the bride’s obtrusive happiness appeared to her as a deliberate “tempting of Providence.” Moreover, she disapproved of the costume as theatrical and unusual. Why not satin, like everybody else? And no jewels! The niece of Lady Griselda Dundas must possess jewels of price. Then why that bare neck? Mrs Mawson was wearing her own rubies, and took it as a personal slight that the bride had come to meet her unadorned.
Midway between the two extremes flowed the general verdict, but Grizel was blissfully unconscious of criticism. She went through the necessary greetings of acquaintances, among whom she was surprised to recognise Teresa Mallison, and then exchanged a few words with her hostess before leading the way to dinner on the Squire’s arm.
Cassandra looked as usual, both tired and vivid; she gave a caressing pressure to her friend’s elbow, and murmured softly:
“Exquisite. About eighteen! ... Talk hard, Grizel, for pity’s sake—talk hard! The atmosphere is freezing. At the last moment Mona Fenchurch sent a wire. Flue. I had to send for Teresa. She’s so good about filling gaps.”
“Oh, well!” Grizel said significantly. Of course Teresa was delighted to come, especially when by good luck it was Peignton’s predestined partner who had fallen out! She stood by his side now—flushed, silent, a trifle gauche, for it was something of an ordeal to meet the people who politely ignored her existence in the life of the neighbourhood. Grizel divined something of the cause of the girl’s embarrassment, and sent her a smile of beaming friendliness. Well! all had turned out for the best. Nobody wanted Mona Fenchurch for the pleasure of her company, and her absence had paved the way to a lovers’ meeting. Captain Peignton looked supremely content, and how sensible of the girl to stick to blue!