The wedding-day dawned auspiciously, and the sun shone bright and warm, though it was the middle of January. A full hour before the ceremony, the twins had the bride dressed and paraded duly before the mirrors, to see that her drapery fell with the proper grace, and that nothing was wanting. Mrs. Kendrick had sent quantities of flowers for the decoration of the parlor, and was herself to be present. Louise, finding that the affair was going to be so “nice,” cried with vexation that she had behaved so meanly to Clara. Mrs. Forest came in just as the bride was dressed. “Does she not look sweet, mamma,” asked Linnie. “Yes,” said Mrs. Forest, hesitatingly; “but you are too flushed, my daughter. Let me see if your corset is not too tight. No? Well, Linnie, get her some lemonade—that is cooling.” “Oh don’t, mamma! you distract me!” exclaimed Clara, scowling under her orange-blossoms. “I do wish no one could look at me for the next ten years. I feel so like a theatre-queen—so utterly ridiculous.” Mrs. Forest was distressed. The twins uttered exclamations. “Why, she has not said such a word before!” said Linnie. “No; I meant to be very good, and what mamma calls sensible, but I am so horridly nervous.” “You are such an incomprehensible child,” remarked Mrs. Forest, severely. “You are veritably _sauvage_, as the French say. This, the supreme hour to all well-regulated young ladies, you seem to regard as a misfortune.” “Well, I do. I suppose I am not a well-regulated young lady, for I hate the hot-house odor of these flowers. I hate myself, that I have submitted to make a spectacle of myself. This is the supreme hour for girls, is it? Well, I wonder that they have no more refinement.” “What on earth do you set out to marry Dr. Delano for, I should like to know,” said Leila, concealing her crossness with difficulty. “Because I love him, you goosey! but it don’t follow, therefore, that I like to make a guy of myself.” “A guy! oh! oh!” exclaimed the much-tried sisters. “You never began to look anything like half so sweet before.” Mrs. Forest stood in mute bewilderment, and Clara began to relent. “There,” she said. “It’s all over. I am sensible now, mamma—a perfect stoic. There’s papa coming!” and opening the door herself, she threw herself into his arms, and sobbed a little, though laughing at the same time. “Oh, I can’t enjoy crying one bit, papa. I’m thinking all the time of my orange-blossoms. Look, papa, and see if you haven’t crushed one of the things.” “Well, I _never_ saw anybody behave so!” exclaimed Leila, in disgust. “If I ever get married——” “Your conduct will be perfectly exemplary,” interrupted the doctor, and then giving all his attention to Clara, he said, tenderly: “My poor darling! They would have it so. They don’t understand papa’s girl. Her poetry is inside, and this paraphernalia don’t fitly express it.”