"_Sickness and death_,"-- it meant to be bound all one's life to one person, morning, noon, and night.

How very, very careful one would have to be in choosing,--and then suppose one made a mistake and thought the man she was marrying was good and honest and true, and he _wasn't_! It would be all the same, for "_for better, for worse_," ran the vow, "_until death us do part_." Then and there, holding fast to the gate of roses, Mary made up her mind that she could never, never screw her courage up to the point of taking the vows Eugenia was taking, as she stood with her hand clasped in Stuart's, and the late sunshine of the sweet June day streaming down on her like a benediction.
"It's lots safer to be an old maid," thought Mary.

"I'll take my chances getting the diamond leaf some other way than marrying.

Anyhow, if I ever should make a choice, I'll ask somebody else's opinion, like I do when I go shopping, so I'll be sure I'm getting a real prince, and not an imitation one." It was all over in another moment.

Harp and violins burst into the joyful notes of Mendelssohn's march, and Stuart and Eugenia turned from the altar to pass through the rose gate together.