The wedding was over. Scott had been to San Francisco and returned, bringing his bride, radiant in diamonds and rich apparel. She was a handsome dark-haired woman, with finely-cut features and an exquisitely molded form. Her tapering fingers fairly blazed with costly diamonds. The evening reception given at the Wilmer mansion was a brilliant affair, and everyone present admired Scott Wilmer’s wife, as she appeared in her rich pearl-colored satin dress and costly jewels. Mrs. Wilmer had welcomed them home the day before, highly pleased with the choice her son had made. June kissed her new sister in a loving way, and Mr. Wilmer gave her a quiet and kindly welcome. Scott inquired for Paul, and on investigation found him in the library with his head bowed on the broad window sill, the tears dropping from his eyes.
“Why, Paul, my boy,” said Scott, as he placed his hand on his head, “are you crying? What is that for?”
“For nothing,” Paul answered. “I am foolish, I know, but it seems to me as though I were all alone again. I have been so happy, and you have been so kind to me.”
“I can still be kind, can’t I?” Scott asked, with a smile.
“Oh, sir,” said Paul, “I did not mean that you would not; but——”
“But what? Do you think Irene is a tyrant?”
“Oh, no, sir! Please do not think I dislike your—your—wife. I do not know.”
“Very well; dry your eyes and come to the parlor and let me introduce you.”
“Please, Mr. Wilmer, I would rather not.”