“You precious child, you shouldn’t have done it!” said Mrs. Maxwell, nestling Cornelia’s hand in her own as her son stowed them away in the back seat of the car together and whirled them away to the Copley house. “But it was dear of you, and I shall never forget it!” she said fervently with another squeeze of the hand. A few moments more, and she entered the living room that had been wrought out with such care and anxiety, and gazed about her, delighted. “I knew you would do it, dear. I knew it! I was sure you could,” she whispered with her arm around the girl; and then she went forward with a sigh of relief to meet the sweet mother of the Copleys, who came to greet her. The two mothers looked long into each other’s eyes, with hands clasped and keen, loving, searching looks; and then a smile grew on both their faces. Mother Maxwell spoke first with a smile of content: “I was almost sure you would be like that,” she said; “and I’m going to love you a great deal”; and Mother Copley, her face placid with a calm that had its source in deep springs of peace, smiled back an answering love. Then came father Copley, and grasped the other mother’s hand, and bade her welcome too; and after that mother Maxwell was satisfied, and went to dress for the wedding. The four bridesmaids did not see much of Cornelia, after all; for, when she came back from her ride, they were all breathlessly manipulating curling-irons and powder-puffs, tying sashes, and putting on pretty slippers; and no one had time to talk of other things. It seemed to be only Cornelia who was calm at this last minute, who knew where the shoe-horn had been put, could find a little gold pin to fasten a refractory ribbon, and had time to fix a drooping wave of hair or adjust a garland of flowers. It had been Cornelia’s wish that her wedding should be very simple and inexpensive; and, though the bridesmaids had written many letters persuading and suggesting rainbow hues and dahlia shades, and finally pleaded for jades and corals, all was to no effect. Cornelia merely smiled, and wrote back: “I want you all in white, if you please, just simple white organdie, made with a deep hem and little ruffles; and then I want you to have each a garland of daisies around your hair, and daisies in your arms.” “White for bridesmaids!” they cried as one maid. “Who ever heard of such a thing?” But the answer came back: “This isn’t going to be a conventional wedding. We’re just going to get married, and we want our dearest friends about us. I love white, and the daisies will be lovely on it and do away with hats. I’m going to wear a veil. I like a veil; but my dress is white organdie, too, and I’ll have white roses.” And so it was, all natural and sweet like an old-fashioned country affair, and not one convention out of a thousand observed in the order and form of things.