“Poor things!” she murmured to herself with a sigh, “I hope they will be happier than Ralph and I have been.”
The conversation grew more bustling and detached; the lady who was the reporter-general was giving, for the fifth time, to some new comer, a description of the bride’s costume, which she did with a volubility so eloquent and untiring as to have reflected credit on a French modiste—expatiating largely on the beauty and costliness of the materials of which it was composed, and united to her minute details of the tucks, headed by rich rows of lace and embroidery, could be heard exclamations of the others, who had already listened to the description.
“Oh,” said one, in a tone of voice that told what delicious satisfaction costly articles of dress gave her, “it is too lovely to be married in an India robe, with heavy embroidery and rich Valenciennes berthé and trimming. If ever I’m married, I intend to make ma order one of Levy’s for me; it shall be imported especially for me.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Jones, stopping in the midst of her harangue, à la parenthesis, “Mr. Grugan received the order for Blanche’s wedding robe last year, the very day Mr. Holmes offered. No one knew it but her family, except me—I knew it, of course.”
“I don’t believe she knew a word about it. Mrs. Jones is always pretending she’s so intimate with every body,” said a young lady, sotto voce; but Mrs. Jones was too deeply engaged in the tucks, and lace trimming, and Honiton veil, to hear the doubt and charge. The conversation increased in animation, and Mrs. Jones’s clear, high voice was almost drowned.
“Ah,” exclaimed one, “it’s splendid to be married in such style.”
“Yes,” rejoined another, “and how delightful to go right off on a journey, and to Europe, too.”
“Oh, girls,” exclaimed one, “only think—Blanche Forrester went to school with me, and, here, she’s married!”
“Well,” said another, “her first bridemaid, Helen Howell, and Aubrey Hilton, are engaged, and Helen was in the same class with me. We all came out last fall together—you’re no worse off than I am.”
Some gentlemen joining the group, the conversation became too detached and confused to be heard, and there were so many little bursts of laughter as to make the whole affair quite a medley. Presently the scraping of the violins, preceded by a loud crash of the whole united band, announced that a waltz was about to be danced.