“Days afterward, when I went to fetch the leaves and press them, I read in his own handwriting these words:
“‘In the present state of affairs, such a marriage would be an excellent speculation for me.’
“Yet it never occurred to me that he was writing of his own marriage—his marriage with me. I remember going to my mother’s grave and bending over the long flowers to tell her that I was so happy, so happy that earth seemed like heaven; that a noble, princely Englishman had come from over the seas and was going to make me his wife; that I loved him. Then I failed for want of words; even to my mother among the angels in heaven I could not say how much, how dearly, how well I loved him. I could only bury my head in the flowers, and tell her of my deep, unutterable joy.
“It seemed like a dream—a poet’s dream—all beautiful and all unreal. I remember the white gleams of moonlight, when my lover, with his handsome Saxon face, all in a glow, would tell me of Shakespeare’s Juliet, and how Romeo loved her, swearing that I was a thousand times more fair. Is it a wonder that I hate my own name when I remember all he said of it?”
CHAPTER XLI.
THE STORY CONTINUED.
“I was married in a quaint old church outside Granada. My husband was enraptured with me; for a few short weeks I was the happiest of women. I thought the world so beautiful, so bright, that heaven could hardly surpass it. I thought my husband the perfection of knighthood, the truest gentleman and the noblest man I had ever met. He did not stay long in Granada. My eyes might have been open to his true character, his gross, cruel selfishness, but that I was blind, for he left the city without one word of advice to Donna Maria, without thanking her for the care she had taken of me, above all, without what I am sure that lady expected—making her a handsome present.
“I was blind then and for long afterward, until the cruel hour of my awakening came. Sir Alfred took me for a bridal tour through Italy; there was but one fault that I saw in him; that was a decided love of gambling.
“Play seemed to affect his temper; if he won largely, as was generally the case, he was always in the best of humors; if he lost, he was the very reverse. It was May when we reached England, and my husband took a beautiful house in one of the most fashionable quarters of London. I was presented at Court, introduced into high society, and was altogether exceedingly happy. As yet, I saw no flaw in the jewel I believed to be all my own. A conversation I had with my husband one day puzzled me; we were speaking of beauty in women.
“‘Of all things,’ I remarked, ‘beauty seems to me the most highly prized, yet worth the least.’
“He smiled, and there was something so sarcastic, so cynical in the smile that I could not refrain from asking him of what he was thinking. He laughed aloud.