Marguerite Verne is radiant in pearl-colored satin and ruchings of
delicate pink azaleas.
Two younger girls are becomingly attired in cream lace and soft
filmy crepe of the same shade.
Each maiden carries a bewitching basket of flowers, and imparts to
the senses the most delightful effect. Indeed, it is seldom that
historic Trinity ever witnessed a grander pageant within its sacred
walls.
As the handsome and distinguished-looking bridegroom stood before
the altar awaiting the entrance of his bride, it were almost
sacrilege to utter a word deprecatory or otherwise.
Hubert Tracy supports his friend with an air of interest. He seems
more impatient than the other, and has a look of ill-concealed
uneasiness upon his slightly furrowed brow. He hears not the remarks
of pretty maidens or dignified matrons, else the slight frown would
have given place to a smile.
"Mr. Tracy is as handsome as the groom, mamma."
"Handsomer, my dear."
There was still a chance to ensnare the uncaged bird, and this fact
was alone in the mind of the anxious mamma. But the entrance of the
bridal party put an end to all talk concerning the sterner sex.
"Isn't she lovely?" "What a magnificent dress?" "She is so
composed.
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