Rosemary had not thought of that. It was only that her beautiful secret was too sacred to put into words. "They'll have to know some time," she temporised.
"Yes, of course, but not until the last minute. The day we're to be married, you can just put on your hat and say: 'Grandmother, and Aunty, I'm going out now, to be married to Alden Marsh. I shan't be back, so good-bye."
She laughed, but none the less the idea filled her with consternation. "What will they say!" she exclaimed.
"It doesn't matter what they say, as long as you're not there to hear it."
"Clothes," she said, half to herself. "I can't be married in brown alpaca, can I?"
The Difference
"I don't know why not. We'll take the fatal step as early as possible in the morning, catch the first train to town, you can shop all the afternoon to your heart's content, and be dressed like a fine lady in time for dinner in the evening."
"Grandmother was married in brown alpaca," she continued, irrelevantly, "and Aunt Matilda wore it the night the minister came to call."
"Did he never come again?"
"No. Do you think it could have been the alpaca?"