It seems more like a year -- a delightful year . I ca n't believe that I am the same Beatrice Mason who wrote then . And I am not , either . She was just a simple little girl , knowing nothing but romantic dreams . I feel that I am very much changed . Life seems so grand and high and beautiful . I want to be a true noble woman . Only such a woman could be worthy of -- of -- a fine , noble man . But when I tried to say something like this to Sara she replied calmly : `` My dear child , the average woman is quite good enough for the average man . If she can cook his meals decently and keep his buttons sewed on and does n't nag him he will think that life is a pretty comfortable affair . And that reminds me , I saw holes in your black lace stockings yesterday . Better go and darn them at once . ` Procrastination is the thief of time . ' '' Sara can not understand . Blanche Lawrence was married yesterday to Ted Martin . I thought it the most solemn and sacred thing I had ever listened to -- the marriage ceremony , I mean . I had never thought much about it before . I do n't see how Blanche could care anything for Ted -- he is so stout and dumpy ; with shallow blue eyes and a little pale moustache . I must say I do not like fair men . But there is no doubt that he and Blanche love each other devotedly and that fact sufficed to make the service very beautiful to me -- those two people pledging each other to go through life together , meeting its storm and sunshine hand in hand , thinking joy the sweeter because they shared it , finding sorrow sacred because it came to them both .
When Sara and I walked home from the church Sara said , `` Well , considering the chances she has had , Blanche XXXXX has n't done so well after all . ''
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