Part 1 (2/2)

”I knew,” whispered Helen Cameron to Ann Hicks, who stalked beside her in rather a mannish way, ”that Heavy Stone could not even be married without something ridiculous happening.”

”'Ridiculous'?” repeated the Western girl, with something like a catch in her throat.

”Well, it _might_ have been ridiculous,” admitted Helen. ”Only, after all, Jennie is real--and so is Major Marchand. You couldn't feaze him, not even if a bomb had been dropped in the church vestibule.”

They were crowding into the motor-cars then, and merrily the wedding party sped back to the big house on Madison Avenue, which had been garnished for the occasion with the same taste that marked the color-scheme of the bride's attendants. The canopied steps and walk, the footmen in line to receive the party, and the banked flowers in the reception hall were all impressive.

”My!” whispered the irrepressible Jennie to Henri, ”I feel like a prima donna.”

”You are,” was his prompt and earnest agreement.

They trooped in at once to the breakfast table. The s.p.a.cious room was wreathed with smilax and other vines--even to the great chandelier. The latter was so hidden by the decorations that it seemed overladen, and Tom Cameron, who had a quick eye, mentioned it to Ruth.

”Wonder if those fellows braced that thing with wires? Florists sometimes have more sense of art than common sense.”

”Hush, Tom! _Nothing_ can happen to spoil this occasion. Isn't it wonderful?”

But Tom Cameron looked at her rather gloomily. He shook his head slightly.

”I feel like one of those pictures of the starving children in Armenia.

I'm standing on the outside, looking in.”

It is true that Ruth Fielding flushed, but she refused to make reply. A moment later, when Tom realized how the seating of the party had been arranged, his countenance showed even deeper gloom.

As best man Tom was directed to Jennie's right hand. On the other side of Henri, Ruth was seated, and that placed her across the wide table from Tom Cameron.

The smiling maid of honor was well worth looking at, and Tom Cameron should have been content to focus his eyes upon her whenever he raised them from his plate; but for a particular reason he was not at all pleased.

This particular reason was the seating of another figure in military uniform next to Ruth on her other side. This was a tall, pink-cheeked, well set-up youth looking as though, like Tom, he had seen military service, and with an abundance of light hair above his broad brow. At school Chessleigh Copley had been nicknamed ”La.s.ses” because of that crop of hair.

He entered into conversation with Ruth at once, and he found her so interesting (or she found him so interesting) that Ruth had little attention to give to her _vis-a-vis_ across the table.

The latter's countenance grew heavier and heavier, his dark brows drawing together and his black eyes smouldering.

If anybody noticed this change in Tom's countenance it was his twin sister, sitting on Ruth's side of the table. And perhaps she understood her brother's mood. Now and then her own eyes flashed something besides curiosity along the table on her side at Ruth and Chess Copley, so evidently lost in each other's companions.h.i.+p.

But it was a gay party. How could it be otherwise with Jennie at the table? And everybody was bound to second the gaiety of the bride. The groom's pride in Jennie was so open, yet so very courteously expressed, that half the girls there envied Jennie her possession of Henri Marchand.

”To think,” drawled Ann Hicks, who had come East from Silver Ranch, ”that Heavy Stone should grab off such a prize in the matrimonial grab-bag.

My!” and she finished with a sigh.

”When does your turn come, Ann?” asked somebody.

”Believe me,” said the ranch girl, with emphasis, ”I have got to see somebody besides cowpunchers and horse-wranglers before I make such a fatal move.”

”You have lost all your imagination,” laughed Helen, from across the table.

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