“My dear child, I’m going to say good-bye now to Jerry Macy and take myself off downstairs so as to be ready to be among the first to say, ‘Good fortune to Jerry Seabrooke’.”

Miss Susanna Hamilton folded Jerry in her arms, kissing her gently upon both cheeks, and then upon her lips. The little old lady, charming in her gown of ecru satin and duchess lace, was smiling at Jerry, a world of affection in her small bright eyes.

“Dearest Goldendede.” Jerry returned the embrace with fervor. “I love you bushels as Jerry Macy, and when I’m Jerry Seabrooke, I’ll go on loving you, even more than bushels.”

“That’s worth looking forward to.” Miss Susanna wagged her head with amused appreciation.

“I’m next, Jerry, dear.” Mrs. Dean now claimed Jerry. “It seems hardly more than yesterday since you and Marjorie went raiding the Dean kitchen after school on a hunt for chocolate cake. Romance was far from your thoughts then. Marjorie found hers, and you yours. We are all happy in your happiness tonight.” Mrs. Dean’s tones bespoke her love for Jerry. “Wonderful things have befallen the Dean Army.”

“I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world, Captain.” Jerry brought a hand to her forehead in playful salute. “Besides Father and Mother and Hal I’ve you and General and Miss Susanna as special superior officers to wish me happiness. Some honor for Lieutenant Macy, I’ll say.”

“And you never counted me in.” Marjorie shook a finger at Jerry. Seated on a chaise longue she had thus far been a contentedly-smiling, silent spectator to the fond little scene of which Jerry formed the center.

“Oh, you’re my brother officer. I take you for granted,” Jerry assured her.

It was half-past seven by the busily ticking Dresden clock on Jerry’s chiffonier. At eight o’clock that evening Jerry was to be married to Danny Seabrooke in the Macy’s beautiful salon-like drawing room downstairs. She had been dressed for half an hour for the momentous journey she was soon to take down the grand staircase, and on her flower-decked way to keep a high tryst with Danny, her devoted cavalier of high school days.

Mrs. Dean, Miss Susanna and Marjorie had been spending an intimate half hour with the bride-to-be in accordance to her forceful plea: “For goodness sake stick to me.” The two older women now left the room to take their places among the guests. Only Marjorie remained with her chum, knowing that Jerry wished her to do so.

As the door closed upon Miss Susanna and Mrs. Dean, Jerry walked over to the long triple-plated floor mirror and began a critical survey of her resplendent self in it. Marjorie sat watching her with proud, admiring eyes. She thought she had never before seen Jerry look so pretty.

“Well, Bean,” Jerry presently turned away from the mirror to fix round, inquiring blue eyes almost solemnly upon Marjorie, “what’s the verdict? I mean, how does Jeremiah look?”

“You are so lovely in your wedding dress, Jerry.” Marjorie gave a sigh of delighted admiration.

“Honestly, and truly am I—do I look as nice as that?” Jerry’s cheeks grew pinker at the tribute.

“Honestly, and truly you are—you do,” Marjorie assured with amused emphasis. “You know I’ve always liked best to see you wear white. But tonight—you are positively stunning, Jeremiah. Your wedding dress is a dream, and so are you in it.”

“Oh, gee, but I’m glad of it,” Jerry gave a sigh of profound relief. “Since it’s you who is saying it, I have to believe it. I’d like to look—um-m, something celostrous, all on Danny’s account. I want him to be properly impressed by my—ahem—resplendent beauty,” Jerry giggled, her sense of humor ever to the fore. There was, nevertheless, something of girlish wistfulness in her joking words.

“He will be,” Marjorie devotedly predicted. “What do you think of yourself in your wedding finery?” she continued mischievously.

“Oh, pretty fair, Bean; just middling.” There was a pleased gleam in Jerry’s eyes, however, as she turned once more to the mirror.

She made a charming picture standing before it, looking taller and slimmer than was her wont in the straight beautiful lines of her ivory satin wedding gown with its garniture of pearls and rare old lace. The lace-trimmed court train, falling from the shoulders, the long tight sleeves and the V-shaped pearl-embroidered neck also served to heighten the stately effect of her costume.

“I shan’t put on my veil until the last minute,” she announced matter-of-factly. “Just let me tell you this, Bean, it’s a whole lot more trouble to dress for one’s own wedding than it is for some one else’s.”

Mindful of her snowy finery she sat down carefully on the edge of her bed and viewed Marjorie with a half abashed, half impish air. “How’s that for a sweetly sentimental thought to trot along to the altar?” she asked.

“It’s strictly a la Jeremiah, only you’ll forget it the instant you hear the wedding march.” A reminiscent gleam had appeared in Marjorie’s eyes.

“I guess you know what you are talking about.” Jerry fell into sudden silence. Apparently unsentimental Jerry was not lacking in either sentiment, or emotion. She was feeling deeply the tension of the moment, but was endeavoring to hide it, even from Marjorie. “I only hope I keep in step with it,” she added with a reflective air.

“In step with what?” Marjorie came suddenly out of her moment of dreaming.

“The wedding march, of course,” Jerry replied with a faint chuckle.

“Oh,” Marjorie had to laugh with her. She understood Jerry, and the way she was feeling, also the facetious effort her chum was making to conceal her real feelings.

“I never did like having a lot of fuss made over me.” Jerry rose and walked to a side table on which reposed her wedding bouquet of lilies of the valley and white orchids. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, lifting it up almost reverently. Her humorous expression had vanished into one of girlish seriousness.

“I love it. It’s so perfect”—Marjorie paused—“as perfect as love. It’s true love’s own symbol.”

“True love,” Jerry repeated musingly. “I never dreamed for a minute when Danny and I used to squabble and play jokes on each other as high school pals that I’d ever love him enough to marry him. You know I always said I was never never going to be married.” For a moment she bent her face over the mass of exquisite white blooms, hiding it from view. She presently raised it from the bouquet with: “Times have certainly changed, Beanie. They certainly have changed.”

“It looks that way, Macy,” Marjorie gaily agreed. Gradually her smile faded. “Jerry,” she began slowly, “you know you and I have never talked much to each other about Hal—and—and—the way things were for so long between us before—well—before I discovered that I really had a heart for love. At that time I was relieved because you tried never to let me think you were disappointed because I didn’t then love Hal. I felt that you were, and I often wished to have a talk with you about him. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to speak of him, even to you. I was so sure that I could never learn to love him in the beautiful way I believed he loved me. Captain was the only one I confided my troubles to.”

“You weren’t to blame because you didn’t know your own heart,” Jerry made loyal defense. “I used to feel a little out of patience with you at times. It hurt me like sixty to see Hal try to buck up, determined not to show what a crusher you had handed him. Still, I couldn’t blame you, either. Love’s the world’s great mystery, even if it is love that sends the old ball dizzying around,” Jerry finished with slangy philosophy.

In spite of her practical tone Marjorie glimpsed a glint of tenderness in her chum’s eyes as she gently deposited the white armful of fragrance upon the table again.

“I’ve not yet forgiven myself for having hurt Hal so. Whenever I think of how nearly I lost him forever by my own blindness, it sends my heart away down for a minute. It will take a lifetime of devotion on my part to make it up to him. We’re so happy together now. It doesn’t seem as though I deserved such happiness,” Marjorie ended half wistfully.

“Shucks,” was Jerry’s comforting opinion. “You deserved happiness more than any one of us did.”

“Oh, no,” Marjorie shook her head gravely. “No one deserves to be happier than you and Danny are going to be. You two just simply drifted beautifully into love. There haven’t been any misunderstandings, or heartaches, in your romance. It’s been ideal.”

“That’s so.” Jerry considered Marjorie’s assertion with a half embarrassed flush. It was the witching, intimate hour for confidences between the chums. “I guess we began to miss each other a lot at about the same time. I missed Danny dreadfully during my senior year at Hamilton. When we came to compare notes, last summer at Severn Beach, we found we weren’t crazy about having to be so far away from each other and—that’s the way it all happened,” she confessed half shyly. “Danny wanted to ask me to marry him on that night when we went for a sail in the Oriole and Hal sang the ‘Venetian Boat Song’ with a kind of heart-break in his voice that he hadn’t the least idea was there. You missed it entirely, but it got both Danny and me. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.” Jerry made an eloquently reminiscent gesture. “He told me after we became engaged that he hadn’t the courage to ask me that night to marry him, for fear I might turn him down as you had Hal.”

“That was a night I had some very sad memories of, long afterward, when I came to a realization that I really loved Hal, but too late. I surmised he was going to ask me to marry him before I went back to Hamilton, and I was determined not to give him an opportunity. Wasn’t I stony-hearted though?” Marjorie laughed rather tremulously.

“You’re bravely over it now, and that’s what counts,” was Jerry’s sturdy philosophy. “I think that when——”

“Jerry, dear, the girls will be here in a minute.” Mrs. Macy’s hurried entrance into the room broke up the confidential session. A plump dainty little figure in her handsome gown of pearly gray and white, her bright blue eyes adoringly took in the charming spectacle of Jerry in her brave white array. “Shall I help you with your veil?” She nodded briskly toward the beautiful, voluminous veil of brussels net which swept fairy-like folds across the foot of Jerry’s bed.

“Please do, Mother.” The two exchanged fond smiles.

Mrs. Macy lifted the misty, exquisite lace cloud from the bed and trotted over to Jerry with it. Jerry stood very still while her mother placed the coronet-like cap, with its garniture of pearls and orange blossoms, on her head, and adjusted it to her critical satisfaction.

The pretty service performed, Jerry placed her hands on her mother’s cheeks and kissed her on the lips. “Thank you, Mother,” she said. The uncontrollable impulse toward humor overcoming her she pulled a fold of the veil over her face and peered owlishly through the lace meshes at Marjorie. “It’s too late for regrets,” she quavered in a doleful tone. “Good night, Jerry Macy.”

“Do try to behave well during the ceremony, at least, Jerry,” was her mother’s laughing advice as she circled about her irrepressible daughter in anxious mother-proud survey.

“I will,” Jerry promised in a hollow voice that set the trio laughing. A murmur of voices outside her door, and she added encouragingly: “Here come the girls. Kindly note my exemplary behavior from now on. Jeremiah is going to step strictly into line for the great occasion.”