"She was a great favorite with old Eugene Mallard, the uncle, and his fond wish was that his favorite nephew should fall in love with and marry the pretty girl. But, bless you, the young man had ideas of his own."
"Who else is coming?" was the next question.
"A lady and her two daughters. They used to be dead in love with Mr. Mallard, until they found it was useless. They were more sensible, however, than Vivian Deane. They turned their attention elsewhere, and they are still looking for eligible husbands."
Ida May's heart throbbed wildly. Now she knew why her husband's face had flushed as he mentioned the name of Vivian Deane. And this was the young girl whom she was so soon to meet!
Ida felt nervous at the very thought of the ordeal before her. She knew she must be in the drawing-room to welcome his guests. Her husband would expect that of her.
Drying her tears, though her heart was heavy indeed, the young wife stole back quietly to the house, and up to her own room. When she had removed the traces of tears, she looked with pitiful wistfulness at the face which the mirror reflected.
How long would it take this Vivian Deane, who loved her husband so madly, to discover that he was most unhappy in his marriage?
There was a light tap on the door, and in answer to her "Come in" one of the maids entered the room.
"If you please, Mrs. Mallard, your husband would like to have you come down into the drawing-room. He says the guests are likely to arrive at any moment."
"Say that I will be down directly," she replied, and her voice sounded so hoarse and unnatural that she feared the girl would notice her emotion.