"Hallo! No, it's not; yes, it is, though; it's Gipsy Gower, is it not?" cried Louis.
"No, sir. Mrs. Nicholas Wiseman, if you please," said Gipsy, drawing herself up.
"My dear little Gipsy, I am delighted to meet you again. How handsome you have grown! Allow me to embrace my little playmate?"
Accepting his salute with saucy cordiality, Gipsy turned her horse's head in the direction of the Hall.
"Tell me now, Louis, what brings you home so suddenly?" asked Gipsy.
"Why, to confess the truth, I grew tired of sight-seeing, and began to feel homesick for the old, familiar faces; so, wishing to surprise you all, I started without sending you word, and here I am. But, Gipsy, whatever possessed you to marry that old man?"
"Love, of course. People always marry for love, you know."
"Pshaw! Gipsy, I know better than that. Why did you jilt poor Archie? I met him in Paris, half crazy, one would imagine. He answered my questions rationally enough, until we came to speak of you, when he burst forth into a torrent of invectives against flirts and deceivers in general, and then seized his hat and fled from the room, leaving me to conjecture as best I might his meaning. Come, Gipsy, own up, are you not the cause of all this frenzy?"
Gipsy's face had grown very pale; her eyes were bent on the ground, her lips firmly compressed, as she answered, in a low, hurried voice:
"Louis, don't talk to me on this subject. I am wicked and wretched enough the best of times, but I always feel like a perfect fiend when this subject is mentioned. Suffice it for you to know that fate had decreed I should wed Dr. Wiseman; no earthly power could have prevented it, therefore I became his wife."