Dorothy spread the white silk stocking over one knee. "I don't know," she sighed, "sometimes I think I am."
"Pride," commented Cecile, complacently. "Pride is sin, so there you are, Dorothy."
"There you are, Dorothy!" said I, laughing from the doorway; and, "Oh, Cousin Ormond!" they all chorused, scrambling up to greet me.
"Have a care!" cried Dorothy. "That is my wedding petticoat! Oh, he's slopped water on it! Benny, you dreadful villain!"
"No, he hasn't," said I, coming out to greet her and Cecile, with Samuel and Benny hanging to my belt, and Harry fast hold of one arm. "And what's all this about wedding finery? Is there a bride in this vicinity?"
Dorothy held out a stocking. "A bride's white silken hose," she said, complacently.
"Embroidered on the knee with the bride's initials," added Cecile, proudly.
"Yours, Dorothy?" I demanded.
"Yes, but I shall not wear them for ages and ages. I told you so last night."
"But I thought Dorothy had best make ready," remarked Cecile. "Dorothy is to carry that fan and wear those slippers and this petticoat and the white silk stockings when she weds Sir George."