White Bluffs spokesman. [volume] (White Bluffs, Wash.) 1907-1938, 1938-01-14
voice and infection to a note as she
stopped at the gate of the patio.
Hope you'll enjoy the trip, Mr..
Trent. Happy landings!"

Trent. Happy landings!"
The sky was like huge sapphire:
the sunshine was rose-tinted; the
ocean tumbling mass of emeralds.
A fragrant breeze, a mere sugges-
ton of breeze, ruffled the bright
orange flame-vine on top of the high
Spanish wall which enclosed three
sides of a garden open to the sea,
a garden filled with tables set in
gay borders which were filmy
frocks; there were faces above the
tables, faces under large hats and
mems faces with no hats at all.
From a Moorish gallery drifted
male voices singing to the accom-
paniment of guitars as Brooke
stepped from the automobile which
had brought her to the charity fete.
Carstons Inc. had staged the we'd
ding party Of the style show with
meticulous attention to detail, even
to sleek shining cars to bring the
bride and bridesmaids to the ornate
grilles which were the garden gates.
Reporters were there and camera
men, hordes of them, all the frills
and appurtenances of a wedding ex-
cept groom and ushers.
Madame Celeste, chic in black
and pearls, was flushed with excite
ment under her makeup; her
French accent was noticeable for
it's absence as she whispered last
instructions:
"Wait until the singers stop, girls.
The moment the orchestra strikes
the first note of the wedding march,
start. Don't get fustered. Don't
get out of step. You're all lovely,
your foppy hats are divine, and
your bouquets of Transvaal daisies
combining the shades of your frocks
are perfect. Remember to smile
when you turn in the space where
the altar should be and isn't, to
come down the three stairs to the
aisle. Brooke, you are almost too
white under that tulle; perhaps
should have put on more rouge. Too
late now. Remember that you're
giving an imitation of a radiantly
happy bride, cherie. They've
stopped. Ready! Listen!"
A violin sighed soft note. Others
joined until strings and harps and
woodwinds swelled into the wedding
march from Lohengrin.
Bridesmaids. their lips scarlet,
their eyes shining between dark
mascaraed lashes, passed between
the iron grilles and moved slowly
up the ribbon-outlined aisle, drag
ging their gold slippers little in
time to the rhythm of the music,
and the swish of their taffeta slips.
The first two were dressed in bill
lowy rose-orange net; behind them
at a short distance came two more
in lighter tint, then two in soft
yellow, then fourth pair in ivory,
and then the bride in snowy satin so
soft in texture that it trailed in raw
ishing folds. Slowly she came with
mead signify Dent, eyes preSum-
ably on the mass of white Trans
vaal daisies and stevia she carried,
hair shining like FURNISHED copper
beneath the mist of her VEIL, but
she could see, could feel the people
who crowded the garden, people dis
tinguished, powerful, chic: what the
papers would headline as the cream
of society.
Brooke felt the surge of motion
as everyone stood up-a tribute to
Madame Celeste's stagecraft-the
wedding procession was so perfect
that habit had brought the audi
ence to it's feet. She must keep her
attention on the girls in front-why
had Mark Trent come to Palm
Beach-this heavenly music made
one all trembly inside-would she
never reach the spot where she was
to turn-three stairs to mount be-
fore che rea chea it--this ought to ha