"No matter, we are 'well on't for love,' and that is all we really
need," she thought, recalling with a smile Mrs. Wilkins's advice.
"David sends you these, dear. Can I help in any way?" asked Letty,
coming with a cluster of lovely white roses in her hand, and a world
of affection in her eyes.
"I thought he'd give me violets," and a shadow came over Christie's
face.
"But they are mourning flowers, you know."
"Not to me. The roses are, for they remind me of poor Helen, and the
first work I did with David was arranging flowers like these for a
dead baby's little coffin."
"My dearest Christie, don't be superstitious: all brides wear roses,
and Davy thought you'd like them," said Letty, troubled at her
words.
"Then I'll wear them, and I won't have fancies if I can help it. But
I think few brides dress with a braver, happier heart than mine,
though I do choose a sober wedding-gown," answered Christie, smiling
again, as she took from a half-packed trunk her new hospital suit of
soft, gray, woollen stuff.
"Won't you wear the pretty silvery silk we like so well?" asked
Letty timidly, for something in Christie's face and manner impressed
her very much.
"No, I will be married in my uniform as David is," she answered with
a look Letty long remembered.
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