“You dear thing! I am so glad! I am so glad! It is all just as it should be, and I can see you are going to be an ideal Darby and Joan. You will forgive me, won’t you, for saying that his collar was dusty, for how was I ever to guess that he was going to belong to you? I much admire the classical outline of his features, and I’ll make a point of studying it exclusively in the future, and never allow my eyes to wander to his garments. After all, what is dust, that it should be allowed to affect our estimate of a fellow-creature? He may be as dusty as he likes, Esther, my dear, and I shall never breathe a word of reproach to you on the subject.”
“Much obliged, but your generosity is unnecessary. You will never see my husband dusty, if I know it!” cried Esther in disdain, and blushed so prettily at the sound of that magic word that Peggy capered round the room in delight, humming an air the while which was intended to be the Wedding March, but which was, alas! so lamentably out of tune that Esther congratulated herself that, even if overheard, it would never be recognised by the beloved listener in the garden.
Chapter Nineteen.
For the next few weeks Esther’s approaching marriage seemed to engross attention to the exclusion of every other topic. To Mellicent’s delight the professor fulfilled Peggy’s prophecy by putting his veto on the travelling-dress proposition. The wedding should be quiet, the quieter the better, but Esther must wear the orthodox attire, for he wished to keep the memory of a white-robed bride with him throughout life. Alone with Esther, he added one or two lover-like speeches on the point, which more than reconciled her for the extra fuss and flurry which were involved in gratifying his desire. A white dress involved bridesmaids, so Peggy received her invitation, and was the less appreciative of the position since every day brought with it a fresh interview with Mellicent, eager, incoherent, brimming over with an entirely new set of ideas on the all-important subject of dress. Esther herself went about her preparations in characteristic fashion, thoughtful of expense, of fatigue for others, yet with a transparent appreciation of her own importance, which was altogether girl-like and natural, and Mrs Asplin entered into every detail of the arrangements with whole-hearted zeal. She was so happy in Esther’s happiness, so thankful for the feeling of additional strength and comfort for the future given by the prospect of the new home, so proud of her distinguished son-in-law, that the old merry spirit sparkled forth as brightly as ever, and with it such a marked improvement in health as rejoiced Peggy’s heart to behold.
“Indeed, it’s a perfect fraud I feel!” she explained one day, when the girl had expressed delight at her altered looks; “for I seem able to do all I want, while just as soon as I begin a tiresome duty I’m tired all over, and feel fit for nothing but to lie down on my bed. I can stand any amount of happiness, Peg, and not one little scrap of worry, and that’s a disgraceful confession for a woman of my years to make to a girl like you! Ah, well, dearie, I’ve borne my own share of worries, and when the old ships are worn out, they don’t brave the storms any more, but sail peacefully up and down the quiet streams. It’s just a useless old derelict I am, and that’s the truth of it.”
“Derelict, indeed! You will never be more than seventeen, if you live to be seventy. You are the youngest member of the family at this moment, and if you spoke the honest truth you would acknowledge that you are in your element in the midst of these wedding preparations! I believe you are far more excited than Esther herself.”
“Indeed and I am. There is nothing I enjoy more than planning and contriving, and making a great deal out of nothing at all. I’ve had a grand turn out of my boxes and cupboards, and brought to light some forgotten treasures which will come in most usefully just now. It reminds me of the time before my own marriage, when I sat stitching dreams of bliss into every seam, and indeed they have been fulfilled, for I have been a blessedly happy woman! Now just look at these things half a moment, my child, and tell me what you think I could do with them. You are so clever at planning, and poor dear Esther is not a bit of good in that direction. If you could suggest what to make, I could cut out the patterns and set to work at once.”
Mrs Asplin waved her hands towards a table on which her resurrected treasures were spread out to view, and Peggy dropped her chin with a preternaturally solemn expression, to avoid bursting into laughter. It was such a melancholy-looking bundle, and Mrs Asplin looked so proud of it, and it was so deliciously like the old vicarage way, to endeavour to make everything out of something else, and to rummage out a store of old rubbish, as the first step towards manufacturing a new garment! The treasures which were to contribute towards Esther’s trousseau consisted of a moth-eaten Paisley shawl, a checked silk skirt of unbelievable hideousness, a muslin scarf; yellow with age, a broken ivory fan, and a pair of mittens. A vision of Esther figuring as a bride in this old-world costume, rose before Peggy’s quick-seeing eyes, the checked silk transforming her slim figure into Mother-Bunch proportions, the shawl folded primly round her shoulders, the fan waving to and fro in the mittened hand. Do what she would, she could not control the inward spasm of laughter; her shoulders heaved and shook, and Mrs Asplin felt the movement, and turned a quick glance upon her.