"You'll have a pony at Mintern Abbas. Won't that be nice?"
"Yes. Oh! there's the signal down at last. That'll be the express to
London. I can hear the roar of it already."
Pamela's idea of a wedding garment for Jean was a soft white cloth coat and skirt, and a close-fitting hat with Mercury wings. Everything was simple, but everything was exquisitely fresh and dainty.
Pamela dressed her, Mrs. Macdonald looking on, and Mawson fluttering about, admiring but incompetent.
"'Something old and something new,
Something borrowed and something blue,'"
Mrs. Macdonald quoted. "Have you got them all, Jean?"
"I think so. I've got a lace handkerchief that was my mother's—that's old. And blue ribbon in my under-things. And I've borrowed Pamela's prayer-book, for I haven't one of my own. And all the rest of me's new."
"And the sun is shining," said Pamela, "so you're fortified against ill-luck."
"I hope so," said Jean gravely. "I must see if Mhor has washed his face this morning. I didn't notice at breakfast, and he's such an odd child, he'll wash every bit of himself and neglect his face. Perhaps you'll remember to look, Mrs. Macdonald, when you are with him here."
Mrs. Macdonald smiled at Jean's maternal tone.