“I adore you, Sue—­isn’t this fun?” was William’s somewhat indirect answer.  They missed one boat, missed another, finally decided to leave it to Mrs. Carroll.

Mrs. Carroll’s decision was favorable.  “Loads of sunlight and fresh air, Sue, and well up off the ground!” she summarized it.

The decision made all sorts of madness reasonable.  If they were to live there, would this thing fit—­would that thing fit—­why not see paperers at once, why not look at stoves?  Susan and Billy must “get an idea” of chairs and tables, must “get an idea” of curtains and rugs.

“And when do you think, children?” asked Mrs. Carroll.

“June,” said Susan, all roses.

“April,” said the masterful male.

“Oh, doesn’t it begin to seem exciting!” burst from Betsey.  The engagement was an old story now, but this revived interest in it.

“Clothes!” said Anna rapturously.  “Sue, you must be married in another pongee, you never had anything so becoming!”

“We must decide about the wedding too,” Mrs. Carroll said.  “Certain old friends of your mother, Sue—–­”

“Barrows can get me announcements at cost,” Philip contributed.

After that Susan and Billy had enough to talk about.  Love-making must be managed at odd moments; Billy snatched a kiss when the man who was selling them linoleums turned his back for a moment; Susan offered him another as she demurely flourished the coffee-pot, in the deep recesses of a hardware shop.

“Do let me have my girl for two seconds together!” Billy pleaded, when between Anna, with samples of gowns, Betts, wild with excitement over an arriving present, and Mrs. Carroll’s anxiety that they should not miss a certain auction sale, he had only distracted glimpses of his sweetheart.

It is an undeniable and blessed thing that, to the girl who is buying it, the most modest trousseau in the world seems wonderful and beautiful and complete beyond dreams.  Susan’s was far from being the most modest in the world, and almost every day brought her beautiful additions to it.  Georgie, kept at home by a delicate baby, sent one delightful box after another; Mary Lou sent a long strip of beautiful lace, wrapped about Ferd’s check for a hundred dollars.

“It was Aunt Sue Rose’s lace,” wrote Mary Lou, “and I am going to send you a piece of darling Ma’s, too, and one or two of her spoons,”

This reminded Georgie of “Aunt Sue Rose’s box,” which, unearthed, brought forth more treasures; a thin old silver ladle, pointed tea-spoons connected with Susan’s infant memories of castor-oil.  Virginia had a blind friend from whom she ordered a wonderful knitted field-coat.  Anna telephoned about a patient who must go into mourning, and wanted to sell at less than half its cost, the loveliest of rose-wreathed hats.

Susan and Anna shopped together, Anna consulting a shabby list, Susan rushing off at a hundred tangents.  Boxes and boxes and boxes came home, the engagement cups had not stopped coming when the wedding presents began.  The spareroom closet was hung with fragrant new clothes, its bed was heaped with tissue-wrapped pieces of silver.