The youngest bridesmaid stood gazing with awe at the shimmering folds of velvet, the trimmings of white mink, the rich simplicity of a fairy-tale creation for a winter’s bride.Melissa would look beautiful, she thought, without envy, and her own unexpected part in this modern pageantry once again overwhelmed her with an innocent wonder that she, with her two small feet set so firmly on the ground, should have been thrust , haphazardly into a fantasy, for fantasy it was. The Chailey cousins had lived in another world; cards had been sent at Christmas if they remembered, and sometimes she filled in at the last moment for a defaulting guest. She was filling in now for the bridesmaid who had so inconsiderately contracted mumps, and none of it was quite real.“Lou! Lou!” a voice was calling somewhere in the house.Voices frequently called, sometimes persuasively, more often impatiently, quite often cross, but this was Cousin Blanche’s voice, and not to be ignored, for to her the youngest bridesmaid owed not only her dress and a participation in the most fashionable wedding of the year, but a fortnight’s respite from office routine to live under the same roof and make herself generally useful.“I’m here, Cousin Blanche,”
