Even when he wrote her a dutiful letter from Paris--to the telegram he had merely replied, "Sorry; impossible"-- full of everything save Emmy and their plans for the future, she did not forgive him.

How dared he consider himself fit to travel by himself?
His own servant qualified his doings as outlandish.
"They'll make a terrible mess of their honeymoon," she said to Clem Sypher.
"They'll start for Rome and find themselves in St.Petersburg." "They'll be just as happy," said Sypher.

"If I was on my honeymoon, do you think I'd care where I went ?" "Well, I wash my hands of them," said Zora with a sigh, as if bereft of dear responsibilities.

"No doubt they're happy in their own way." And that, for a long time, was the end of the matter.

The house, cleaned and polished, glittered like the instrument room of a man-of-war, and no master or mistress came to bestow on Wiggleswick's toil the meed of their approbation.