Part 1 (2/2)
”I'll never quite understand why _you_ fell,” said he dubiously.
”I think we were both too young to know,” she responded. ”It seems to me that we've been in love ever since we were babies.”
”And it never hurts a baby to fall, you know,” said he, with fine logic.
”Of course it may cripple 'em permanently, but they don't know how it happened.”
For some moments she caressed his brown hair in silence, the smile lingering on her lips after it had left her eyes. His eyes closed dreamily under the gentle touch of her fingers. ”But, dear,” she said, ”this is no joking matter. We have been engaged for nearly three months and not a soul knows of it. We'll have to tell them how we managed to keep it a secret for so long, and why,--and all that. And then everybody will want to know who the bridesmaids are to be.”
”I believe I'd like to know that myself, as long as I'm to walk out of the church ahead of them--provided I don't get lost.”
”Helen Grossman is to be the maid of honor. I believe I'll ask Jean Robertson, Eloise Grant, Harriet n.o.ble, Mayme McMurtrie, Ellen Boyland--”
”Are we to have no guests?”
”--and Effa Samuels. Won't it be a pretty set of girls?”
”Couldn't be prettier.”
”And now, who is to be your best man?”
”Well, I thought I'd have Tom Ditton,” a trifle confusedly.
”Tom Ditton! I thought you did not approve of him,” she cried. ”You certainly did not when he came to see me so frequently.”
”Oh, he isn't such a bad sort, after all. I'd just as soon have him as any one. Besides, he's an expert at it. If it was left to me, I'd much rather sit behind the pulpit until it is all over. People won't miss me while they've got you to look at.”
”We could be married so quietly and prettily if it were not for Aunt Elizabeth,” pouted Miss Vernon. ”She insists on the church wedding, the teas and receptions and--”
”All that sort of rot,” he interjected, as if fearing she might not express herself adequately. ”I like your Aunt Elizabeth, Grace, but she's--she's an awful--”
”Don't say it, Hugh. I know what you mean, but she can't help it. She lives for society. She's perfectly crazy on the subject. Aunt Elizabeth made up her mind we should be married in church. I have talked myself black in the face--for your sake, dear--but it was like trying to convert a stone wall. She is determined. You know what that means.”
”No wonder she's a widow,” growled Hugh Ridgeway sourly. ”Your father served you a mighty mean trick, dear, when he gave you over to her training. She might have spoiled you beyond redemption.”
”Poor father! He loathed display, too. I've no doubt that is why he left me in her care until I reached the age of discretion. She was not always like this. Father's money has wrought the change. Aunty was as poor as a church mouse until father's death put her at the head of my household--it was mine, Hugh, even if I was only six years old. You know we could live pretty well on forty thousand a year.”
”You'll have a million or so when you're twenty-three, dear, and I'll venture to say your aunt has saved something in all these years.”
”Oh, she had at least two hundred thousand dollars by the will. It has cost her nothing to live all these years as my guardian and trustee. We just had to do something with my income, you know.”
”I don't see why you should let this fortune stand in the way, Grace,”
growled he. ”Haven't I enough of my own to take its place?” Hugh Ridgeway had a million in his own right and he could well afford to be unreasonable. ”The will says you are not to have your father's money until you are twenty-three years old. He evidently thought that was a discreet age. You are not to marry before you have reached that age.
I've been waiting for two years, Grace, and there still remains two months--”
”One month and twenty-eight days, Hugh,” she corrected.
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