'After all, the only real roses are the pink ones,' said Anne, as she tied white ribbon around Diana’s bouquet in the westward-looking gable at Orchard Slope. 'They are the flowers of love and faith.
' Diana was standing nervously in the middle of the room, arrayed in her bridal white, her black curls frosted over with the film of her wedding veil. Anne had draped that veil, in accordance with the sentimental compact of years before.
'It’s all pretty much as I used to imagine it long ago, when I wept over your inevitable marriage and our consequent parting,' she laughed. 'You are the bride of my dreams, Diana, with the ‘lovely misty veil’; and I am your bridesmaid. But, alas!
I haven’t the puffed sleeves—though these short lace ones are even prettier. Neither is my heart wholly breaking nor do I exactly hate Fred. ' 'We are not really parting, Anne,' protested Diana. 'I’m not going far away. We’ll love each other just as much as ever.
We’ve always kept that ‘oath’ of friendship we swore long ago, haven’t we? ' 'Yes. We’ve kept it faithfully. We’ve had a beautiful friendship, Diana. We’ve never marred it by one quarrel or coolness or unkind word; and I hope it will always be so.
But things can’t be quite the same after this. You’ll have other interests. I’ll just be on the outside. But ‘such is life’ as Mrs. Rachel says. Mrs.
Rachel has given you one of her beloved knitted quilts of the ‘tobacco stripe’ pattern, and she says when I am married she’ll give me one, too. ' 'The mean thing about your getting married is that I won’t be able to be your bridesmaid,' lamented Diana.
'I’m to be Phil’s bridesmaid next June, when she marries Mr. Blake, and then I