But the girl did not have the slightest suspicion that she was being tricked.
The emergency of the moment appeared sufficient to tax the nerves of any one to the utmost, and she attributed everything to that.
"It certainly is a very rich and elegant costume," Edith gravely responded to the woman's query. "It seems to me to be far too nice and elaborate for the occasion."
Mrs. Goddard reddened slightly, and shot a quick, searching look at the girl's face.
"Well, of course it had to be nice to correspond with everything else," she explained, "for all the other young ladies are to wear their ball costumes, which are very elegant, and since the bride is to be the most conspicuous of all, it would not do to have her less richly attired. There!"—as she fastened a beautiful cluster of orange-blossoms to the corsage and stepped back to study the effect—"aren't you just lovely in it?"
"Now the veil," she continued, catching it up from the bed. "Oh!"—with an expression of dismay—"we have forgotten the boots, and you must not sit down to crush the dress. Here, support yourself upon this chair, hold out your foot, and I will put them on for you."
And the haughty woman went down upon her knees and performed the menial service, regardless, in her excitement, of her own elegant costume, which was being crushed in the act.
Then the veil was adjusted, madam chatting all the while to keep the girl's attention, and Edith, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass and under the influence of her companion's magnetism and enthusiasm, began to be imbued with something of the spirit of the occasion and to enjoy seeing herself adorned with these beautiful garments, which so enhanced her beauty.
When everything was done, madam stood back to look at her work, and uttered an exclamation of delight.
"Oh! you are simply perfect, Edith!" she said. "You are just too lovely for anything! Miss Kerby would not have made nearly so beautiful a bride, and—and—I could almost wish that you were really going to be married."