His wife stood careless and smiling, always graceful and ready to enjoy the surprise of her first guests. They came forward slowly, the heavy footsteps smothered in the carpets, and looking around in vague wonder, as if frightened at finding themselves in the midst of such splendor.
"Who can they be, dressed in that fashion?" muttered the lady. "I do not know them!"
Nelson watched the two men anxiously as they approached. They were strangers, and certainly could not be invited guests. The men saw him, and advanced up the room.
"Is your name Nelson?" inquired the foremost, speaking almost in a whisper, for he was awed by the splendor around him.
"Yes," answered Nelson; "that is my name."
"Nelson Thrasher?"
The woman by his side gave a little scream as the words fell on her ear, but controlled herself instantly, though the smile left her lips, and the gorgeous fan trembled in her grasp.
"Yes," said a third person, coming up the room with a heavy, rolling gate, such as seafaring men attain in long voyages. "It is Nelson Thrasher. Arrest him here and now."
Every vestige of color left Thrasher's face—he stood trembling before the two men like a coward. But the woman by his side drew her magnificent figure to its proudest height, and turned scornfully upon them.
"You are mistaken; his name is not Thrasher. This gentleman is my husband!"