It was a little group of young girls, who were promenading after the dance, and who had concluded that the upper balcony commanded a finer view of the ocean. As chance would have it they selected that part of the balcony just under Edda’s window for their gossiping lounge. One, more sentimental than the others, pointed out the effect of the moon-beams which made the edges of the rolling, dashing waves shine like molten silver. But the beauty of the scene was quickly lost, even on this moon-struck damsel, for she, as well as the rest, were soon deeply interested in discussing a wedding that had lately taken place in the _beau-monde_.
“Oh, dear, there’s Mrs. Jones,” exclaimed one, “she just came from town yesterday, and can tell us all about it.”
The lady mentioned joined the group, and threw them into a state of perfect felicity by telling them she had actually been present at the wedding. Immediately she was called upon by a dozen eager voices to tell them “all about it.” Poor Edda, she was doomed to listen to the whole senseless detail, commencing at the bride’s India mull robe, and its heavy, elaborate embroidery, her “exquisite and graceful head-dress,” with the costly Honiton veil, the “rich splendid gifts” of the relatives, and ending with the list of bridemaids and their costume. How the whole description brought her own gorgeous wedding back to her thoughts! and she felt heart-sick.
“Poor things!” she murmured to herself with a sigh, “I hope they will be happier than Ralph and I have been.”
The conversation grew more bustling and detached; the lady who was the reporter-general was giving, for the fifth time, to some new comer, a description of the bride’s costume, which she did with a volubility so eloquent and untiring as to have reflected credit on a French _modiste_—expatiating largely on the beauty and costliness of the materials of which it was composed, and united to her minute details of the tucks, headed by rich rows of lace and embroidery, could be heard exclamations of the others, who had already listened to the description.
“Oh,” said one, in a tone of voice that told what delicious satisfaction costly articles of dress gave her, “it is too lovely to be married in an India robe, with heavy embroidery and rich Valenciennes _berthé_ and trimming. If ever I’m married, I intend to make ma order one of Levy’s for me; it shall be imported especially for me.”