ome, and nobody else will be stupid and commonplace enough to give them
to you. I had hopes of your Aunt Emily, but she has expended herself in
lace, and was so happy over it that I hadn't the heart to whisper
"diamonds!" in her ear, as I had meant to do. Here they are, my child;
the customary horrors!'

"Well, they were very beautiful, though I confess I should have liked
pearls better for Hilda. A diamond crescent and star, really splendid.
She is very rich, you know."

"Is that the great beauty?" asked a girl.

"Yes, she is superb, certainly. Next to Hilda, perhaps--but I'll come to
that presently. Well, now perhaps I have told you half the things, or
rather more than half; but they are the things I cared most about, you
see. I can't go into a list of forks and spoons. So now I come to the
wedding itself."

The girls drew a long breath and leaned forward; presents were very
well, but weddings were better.

"It was at noon, of course. There were only two bridesmaids, Helena
Desmond and I. Hilda said she wanted only her nearest and dearest, so
she would not ask her cousins, though I fancy they had hoped to be
asked. She wanted Bell, but Bell said it was positively necessary that
she should play the organ, and so it was. We wore perfectly plain white
muslin gowns, but, oh, they were so pretty! with soft pale green sashes,
and little wreaths of ivy in our hair. Hildegarde wanted everything as
simple as possible, so we didn't go into hats, or any of that kind of
nonsense. Jerry--my brother Gerald--was best man, and the ushers were
Phil and Willy, my other brothers, and Jack Ferrers and Doctor Chirk and
Hugh Allen. Well, so the hour came.

"Helena and I were ready and waiting at Braeside when Hilda came
down-stairs. Girls, you never saw anything so lovely in your lives as
she was. Her dress was very simple, too, white embroidered muslin,
exquisitely fine. Colonel Ferrers brought it from India, years and years
ago, for a lovely young girl who died while he was on his way home. It
had been made in the house, and it looked just like her, as her dresses
always do. She wore a little gold pin that Roger made for her
himself,--mined the gold and all,--no other ornament, and a wreath of
white roses, roses that the Roseholme gardener had been nursing all
summer to make them blossom just at the right time. That was his
present; everybody wanted to do something, you see."

"What does she look like?" asked a girl.

"Well, yo