And so, weary with pleasure, and heart-heavy with feelings that had no longer any reason to exist, pale with fatigue, untidy with crush, their pretty white gowns sullied and passe, each went her way; in every heart a wonder whether the few hilarious hours of strange emotions were worth all they claimed as their right and due.
Ruth had gone home earlier, and Ethel found her resting in her room. “I am worn out, Ruth,” was her first remark. “I am going to bed for three or four days. It was a dreadful ordeal.”
“One to which you may have to submit.”
“Certainly not. My marriage will be a religious ceremony, with half a dozen of my nearest relatives as witnesses.”
“I noticed Fred slip away before Dora went. He looked ill.”
“I dare say he is ill—and no wonder. Good night, Ruth. I am going to sleep. Tell father all about the wedding. I don’t want to hear it named again—not as long as I live.”
CHAPTER VI
THREE days passed and Ethel had regained her health and spirits, but Fred Mostyn had not called since the wedding. Ruth thought some inquiry ought to be made, and Judge Rawdon called at the Holland House. There he was told that Mr. Mostyn had not been well, and the young man’s countenance painfully confessed the same thing.
“My dear Fred, why did you not send us word you were ill?” asked the Judge.