"Well, I have entitled it 'The Masked Bridal,' and it is a very cunningly devised plot, on the part of a pair of lovers whose obdurate parents refuse to allow them to marry," Madam explained. "Edith Lancaster is an American girl, and Henri Bernard is a Frenchman. They have a couple of friends whose wedding is set for a certain date, and who plan to help them outwit the parents of Edith and Henri. The scene is, of course, laid in Paris, where everybody knows a marriage must be contracted in church. The friends of the two unfortunate lovers send out their cards, announcing their approaching nuptials, and also the fact that they will both be masked during the ceremony."
"How strange!" Edith murmured.
"Yes, it is both a novel and an extravagant idea," Mrs. Goddard assented; "but, of course, nobody minds that in a play—the more extravagant and unreal, the better it suits the public nowadays. Well, the parents and friends of the couple naturally object to this arrangement, but they finally carry their point. Everything is arranged, and the wedding-day arrives. Only the parents and a few friends are supposed to be present, and, at the appointed hour, the bridal party—consisting of the ushers and four bridesmaids, a maid-of-honor, and the bride, leaning upon her father's arm, proceed slowly to the altar, where they are met by the groom, best man, and clergyman. Then comes the ceremony, which seems just as real as if it were a bona-fide marriage, you know; and when the young couple turn to leave the church, as husband and wife, they remove their masks, and behold! the truth is revealed. There is, of course, great astonishment, and some dismay manifested on the part of the obdurate parents, who are among the invited guests; but the deed is done—it would not do to make a scene or any disturbance in church, and so they are forced to make the best of the affair, and accept the situation."
"But what becomes of the couple who planned all this for their friends?" Edith inquired.
"Oh, they were privately married half an hour earlier, and come in at a rear door just in season to follow the bridal party down the aisle, and join in the wedding-feast at home."
"It is a very strange plot—a very peculiar conception," murmured Edith, musingly.
"Yes, it is very Frenchy, and extremely unique, and will be carried out splendidly, if nothing unforeseen occurs to mar the acting, for the amateurs I have chosen are all very good. But now I must run down to see that everything is all right for the evening, before I dress. By the way," she added, as if the thought had just occurred to her, "I would like you to put on something pretty, and come to help me in the dressing-room during the play. Have you a white dress here?"
"Yes; it is not a very modern one, but it was nice in its day," Edith replied.
"Very well; I shall not mind the cut of it, if it is only white," said madam. "Now I must run. You can ring for some one to take away this rubbish," she concluded, glancing at the boxes and papers that were strewn about the room; then she went quickly out.
Edith obeyed her, and remained until the room was once more in order, after which she went up to her own chamber to ascertain if the dress, of which she had spoken, needed anything done to it before it could be worn.