Part 4 (2/2)

Grandma Carroll fixed piercing eyes upon the indefatigable Evelyn. ”Of course you _mean_ well,” she said crisply; ”but if I was you I'd take a rest; I'm afraid you're getting all tuckered out doing so much. And considering that you ain't any relation I guess I'd let Lizzie's own folks 'tend to the wedding from now on.”

There was no mistaking the meaning of this plain speech. For an instant Evelyn Tripp's faded cheeks glowed with mortified colour; then she recovered herself with a shrug of her elegant shoulders. Who, after all, was Mrs. Carroll to interfere in this unwarranted manner?

”It is _so_ sweet of you to think of poor little me, dear Mrs. Carroll,”

she said caressingly. ”And indeed I _am_ worn _almost_ to a fringe; but I am promising myself a good, long rest after everything is over.

Nothing would induce me to leave dear Elizabeth _now_. She couldn't possibly get along without me.” She dropped a forgiving kiss on top of Grandma Carroll's cap and flitted away before that justly indignant lady could reply.

Miss Tripp was right. It would have been impossible for the unsophisticated Norths to have completed the arrangements for the entirely ”correct” wedding which Miss Tripp had planned and was carrying through in the face of unnumbered obstacles. As to the motives which upheld her in her altruistic efforts in behalf of Elizabeth North Miss Tripp was not entirely clear. It is not always desirable, if possible, to cla.s.sify and label one's actual motives, and Miss Tripp, for one, rarely attempted the task. A vague emptiness of purpose, a vast weariness of the unending routine of her own somewhat disappointing career, a real, if superficial kindness of heart, and back of all an entirely unacknowledged ambition to attain to that sacred inner circle of Boston society wherein revolved the august Mrs. Mortimer Van Duser, with other lesser luminaries, about the acknowledged ”hub” of the universe; toward which Miss Tripp had hitherto gravitated like a humble asteroid, small, unnoticed, yet aspiring. One of the irreproachable invitations had been duly sent to Mrs. Van Duser; but as yet there had been no visible token that it had been received.

”_Won't_ you ask Mr. Brewster if he will not add a personal invitation?”

entreated Miss Tripp of the bride-elect, who had appeared alarmingly indifferent when the importance of this hoped-for guest was duly set forth in her hearing. ”You don't seem to _realise_ what it would mean to you both to have Mrs. Van Duser present. Let me persuade him to write--or perhaps better to call; one cannot be _too_ attentive to a person in her position.”

But Sam Brewster had merely laughed and pulled the little curl behind his sweetheart's ear when she spoke of Mrs. Van Duser. ”Really, I don't care whether the old lady comes or not,” he said, without meaning any disrespect. ”She's a stiff, uncomfortable sort of person; you wouldn't like her, Betty. I went there to dinner once, and, my word, it was enough for me!”

”But,” persisted Elizabeth, mindful of Miss Tripp's solemn exhortations, ”if she's a relation of yours, oughtn't you to----”

”She was mother's second cousin, I believe; not much of a relation to me, you see. And seriously, little girl, we can't travel in her cla.s.s at all; and we don't want to, even if we could.”

”But why?” demanded Elizabeth, slightly piqued by his tone; ”don't you think I am good enough?”

”You're a hundred times too good, in my opinion!” And the young engineer kissed the pouting lips with an earnestness which admitted of no teasing doubts. ”It's only that Mrs. Van D. is rich and proud and--er--queer, and that she won't take any notice of us. I'm glad you sent her an invitation, though; that was a civil acknowledgment of a slight obligation on my side. I hope she won't send us a present, and--I don't believe she will.”

The two were examining the bewildering array of glittering objects which had been arriving steadily for a week past, by mail and express; in cases left by Boston firms, and in dainty boxes tied with white ribbons from near-by friends and neighbours. The nebulous reports of Elizabeth's wedding outfit, circulated from mouth to mouth and expanding in rainbow tints as they travelled, were reflected in the s.h.i.+ning cut gla.s.s and silver which was spread out before the wondering eyes of the young couple.

When Aunt Miranda Carroll heard that Elizabeth's trousseau included a dozen of everything (all hand-embroidered), a lace wedding-dress that cost over a hundred dollars and a pale blue velvet dinner gown lined with taffeta, she instantly abandoned the idea she had in mind of four dozen fine cotton sheets, six dozen pillow-slips and fifty good, substantial huck towels in favour of a cut-gla.s.s punch-bowl of gigantic proportions. ”It would be just the thing for parties in Boston,” her daughter Marian thought.

And Uncle Caleb North, at the urgent advice of his wife (who had heard in the meantime from Aunt Miranda), exchanged his cheque for a hundred dollars for a chest of silver knives with mother-of-pearl handles. They looked so much richer than the cheque, which would have to be concealed in an inconspicuous envelope. Following the s.h.i.+ning example of Aunt Miranda and Uncle Caleb, other relatives of lesser substance contributed cut-gla.s.s bowls and dishes of every conceivable design and for every known contingency; silver forks and spoons of singular shapes and sizes, suggesting elaborate course luncheons and fas.h.i.+onable dinners. While of lace-trimmed and embroidered centre-pieces and doylies there was a plenitude which would have set forth a modest linen draper. Fragile vases, hand-painted fans, perfume bottles, silver trifles of unimagined uses, sofa pillows and gilt clocks crowded the tables and overflowed onto the floor and mantelpiece.

Elizabeth surveyed the collection with sparkling eyes. ”Aren't they lovely?” she demanded, slipping her hand within her lover's arm; ”and aren't you surprised, Sam, to see how many friends we have?”

”Yes, I am--awfully surprised,” acknowledged the young man. His brows were drawn over meditative eyes as he examined a s.h.i.+ning carving-set with impossible ivory handles. ”What are we going to do with them all?”

he propounded at length.

”Do with them? Why use them, I suppose,” responded Elizabeth vaguely.

”Do see these darling little cups, all gold and roses, and these coffee-spoons with enamelled handles--these make eight dozen coffee-spoons, Sam!”

”Hum!” mused the unappreciative engineer. ”We might set up a restaurant, as far as coffee-spoons go.”

Elizabeth was bending rapturously over a lace fan, sewn thick with spangles. ”I feel so rich with all these lovely things,” she murmured.

”I never dreamed of having so many.”

She made such an exquisite picture in her glowing youth amid the sparkle and glitter of the dainty trifles that it is little wonder that Samuel Brewster lost his usually level head for the moment. ”You ought always to have all the pretty things you want, darling,” he whispered; ”for you are the prettiest and sweetest girl alive.”

Later in the day the ubiquitous Miss Tripp was discovered in the act of artfully concealing Mrs. Carroll's gift, made by her own faithful hands, under a profusion of lace-edged doylies lately arrived from a distant cousin. ”There!” she exclaimed, with an air of relief, ”those big gingham ap.r.o.ns and the dish-towels and dusters did look so absurd with all the other lovely things; they won't show now.” And she planted a silver fern-dish in the midst and surveyed the effect with her head tilted thoughtfully. ”Wasn't it _quaint_ of Mrs. Carroll to make all those useful things? You can give them to your maid afterward; they always expect to be found in ap.r.o.ns nowadays--if not frocks. Really, I draw the line at frocks, with the wages one is obliged to pay; and I should advise you to.”

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