Before his closed but seeing eyes floated a vision of two women--Adelaide as he had last seen her, Theresa as she looked in the mornings, as she had looked that afternoon.
He was haggard next day.

But it was becoming to him, gave the finishing touch to his customary bored, distinguished air; and he was dressed in a way that made every man there envy him.

As Theresa, on insignificant-looking little Bill Howland's arm, advanced to meet him at the altar erected under a canopy of silk and flowers in the bower of lilies and roses into which the big drawing-room had been transformed, she thrilled with pride.

_There_ was a man one could look at with delight, as one said, "My husband!" It was a perfect day--perfect weather, everything going forward without hitch, everybody looking his and her best, and "Mama" providentially compelled by one of her "spells" to keep to her room.

Those absences of hers were so frequent and so much the matter of course that no one gave them a second thought.