Mrs. Davenant looked up at him, tearfully.
“You—you are much changed, Stephen,” she murmured.
“I am,” he said, with a curt laugh. “I am changed, am I not? I scarcely know myself. And she has done it. She! My beautiful queen, my lily! Yes, she shall be happy, if man can make her.” He was silent a moment, dwelling on his love and future, and looked, as he spoke, much changed. Then he awoke at a question from his mother.
“When is it to be, Stephen?”
“Tomorrow,” he said, quietly.
“Tomorrow!” gasped. Mrs. Davenant. “Impossible!”
“Not at all,” he said, curtly. “Remember, I told you not to be surprised, that it would come suddenly.”
“But——”
He made a movement of impatience.
“Do you think I have not made preparations? See,” and he took a paper from his pocket, “I have had the license for a week past. It is no ordinary marriage. We want no bridesmaid and wedding favors. She would not have them—or me, if you insisted upon it. It is principally on the condition that the ceremony shall be quite private—secret almost—that she has consented.”