It was eight o'clock, on Wednesday evening, when we entered Ivy
Cottage, our hearts beating with quickened strokes under their
burden of pleasant anticipation. What a queenly woman stood revealed
to us, as we entered the little parlor! I would hardly have known
her as the almost shrinking girl from whom we parted not many years
before. How wonderfully she had developed! Figure, face, air,
manner, attitude--all showed the woman of heart, mind, and purpose.
Yet, nothing struck you as masculine; but rather as exquisitely
feminine. It took but one glance at her serene face, to solve the
query as to whether there had been a free gift of heart as well as
hand. My eyes turned next to the pale, thin face of Mrs. Montgomery,
who sat, or half reclined, in a large cushioned chair. She was
looking at her daughter. That expression of blended love and pride,
will it ever cease to be a sweet picture in my memory? All was
right--I saw that in the first instant of time.
The reception was not a formal one. There was no display of orange
blossoms, airy veils, and glittering jewels--but a simple welcoming
of a few old friends, who had come to heart-congratulations.
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