“Who took him, Gerty! What are you talking about! I never heard such nonsense.” Elsie returned to her lists. “I shall dress,” she said, looking up; “I must be ready if Kimball comes,—”
“Oh, don’t!” cried her mother; “I’m sure it would be unlucky to dress for your wedding and not be married after all!”
“Unlucky!” said Elsie, with a sad little smile. “I don’t think I could very well be more unlucky than I am!”
“Don’t put on your wedding gown,” urged Gerty. “Put on a simple little white frock, and then, if Kim comes, be married in that.”
“Yes; that’s what I’ll do,” agreed the poor little bride, her big, brown eyes sombre with sadness, and despair. “And I’ll dress now, for at half-past two, I take the telephone. After all,” she tried to speak cheerfully, “it’s no crime to postpone a wedding. It is unusual, it’s unfortunate, but nobody can blame me.”
“Blame you, you poor darling, I should think not!” cried her mother, who was bearing up bravely for her child’s sake.
“I wish you had kept the diamonds,” Gerty said, ruminatively.
“Oh, what a speech! Gert, you are the most mercenary thing I ever knew!” Elsie scowled at her sister. “The idea of thinking of such a matter at this time!”
“Well, you may as well have had them. They’re yours, by right.”
“I don’t want them,—without Kim! I’m glad I didn’t keep them, it would have been one more thing for Henrietta to sneer at.”