it _might_ have been ridiculous," admitted Helen. "Only, after
all, Jennie is real--and so is Major Marchand. You couldn't feaze him,
not even if a bomb had been dropped in the church vestibule."

They were crowding into the motor-cars then, and merrily the wedding
party sped back to the big house on Madison Avenue, which had been
garnished for the occasion with the same taste that marked the
color-scheme of the bride's attendants. The canopied steps and walk, the
footmen in line to receive the party, and the banked flowers in the
reception hall were all impressive.

"My!" whispered the irrepressible Jennie to Henri, "I feel like a prima
donna."

"You are," was his prompt and earnest agreement.

They trooped in at once to the breakfast table. The spacious room was
wreathed with smilax and other vines--even to the great chandelier. The
latter was so hidden by the decorations that it seemed overladen, and Tom
Cameron, who had a quick eye, mentioned it to Ruth.

"Wonder if those fellows braced that thing with wires? Florists sometimes
have more sense of art than common sense."

"Hush, Tom! _Nothing_ can happen to spoil this occasion. Isn't it
wonderful?"

But Tom Cameron looked at her rather gloomily. He shook his head
slightly.

"I feel like one of those pictures of the starving children in Armenia.
I'm standing on the outside, looking in."

It is true that Ruth Fielding flushed, but she refused to make reply. A
moment later, when Tom realized how the seating of the party had been
arranged, his countenance showed even deeper gloom.

As best man Tom was directed to Jennie's right hand. On the other side of
Henri, Ruth was seated, and that placed her across the wide table from
Tom Cameron.

The smiling maid of honor was well worth looking at, and Tom Cameron
should have been content to focus his eyes upon her whenever he raised
them from his plate; but for a particular reason he was not at all
pleased.

This particular reason was the seating of another figure in military
uniform next to Ruth on her other side. This was a tall, pink-cheeked,
well set-up youth looking as though, like Tom, he had seen military
service, and with an abundance of light hair above his broad brow. At
school Chessleigh Copley had been nicknamed "Lasses" because of that crop
of hair.

He entered into conversation with Ruth at once, and he found her so
interesting (or she found him so interesting) that Ruth had little
attention to gi