ows ablaze with light, and grounds with colored
lanterns; and there in the great bay-window they take their stand, with
the circling ranks of lovely bridesmaids and gallant groomsmen about
them, and have time to note the lavish and beautiful decorations, for
here, as at church, flowers are everywhere, and banks of daisies with
the R. S. monogram in carnations, the crossed sabres of the --th,
cavalry guidons, and the stars and stripes all tell of the work of
loving hands and hearts. And such a picture as she makes as she stands
there by his side! When, when was Marion half so lovely? Her rippling
hair, her lustrous eyes, her pure complexion, her beaming, blissful
smile, her winsome charm of manner that none could ever quite
describe,--none could ever imitate! Her dress? Must I tell of that?
True, madam, I bow in all meekness. No wedding description could be even
tolerable, as you say, that ignored the bridal toilet. Why! therein,
too, Marion shone forth in one of her quaintest, most original guises.
_Such_ a struggle as she had had with Madam Finnegan,--that autocrat of
metropolitan _modistes_! "I will be no conventional bride," she
declared; orange flowers she would not wear, but her veil was fastened
by her own flower,--exquisite daisies in silver and gold filigree work;
and the dress?--Madam vowed it would ruin her _prestige_,--that it was
unheard of, impossible; that no bridal dress could be made low-necked
and sleeveless; but Marion well knew the beauty of her neck and arms,
and Ray had begged it should be so. Madam protested, but in vain; the
low-cut, sleeveless corsage fitted closely to the lines of the lovely
figure, and gleamed with pearl embroidered lace, while the front of the
skirt was trimmed _en tablier_ with the same, and a profusion of rich
point-lace fell on either side from the waist to the bottom of the
skirt. Soft, rich, creamy satin was the material, falling in long,
straight, ample folds from the waist to the end of the train. Neither
pearls nor diamonds would she wear. Not a gem is in her ears. Her one
decoration is an exquisite daisy-chain or necklace,--a dainty and
delicate piece of handiwork in gold and silver,--and this is Ray's
present to his bride.

Of the hundreds invited to the church, only relatives, closest friends,
and "the Army people" are bidden to the reception at the Sanfords'. The
Army represent Ray's kindred, for the loving old mother had been growing
too feeble of late to venture