"Shake hands, and see."
She held out hers with a smile, and he took it, and gazed into her face with a doubtful, troubled look.
"Yes, it is Georgia; it must be she; the same, yet so different. You never looked like this in the days gone past, Georgia."
"I have been new-born since," she said, with a serene smile. "You shall learn all soon, Richmond. Do you know I have come to stay now?"
"See here, Mr. Wildair," said Curtis, giving him a poke "don't you keep looking so; everybody's staring and whispering, and our friend here, Whiskerando," pointing to the starred foreigner, "looks as if he thought he had got into a lunatic asylum by mistake. You take Georgia—I mean Mrs. Wildair—off into that conservatory, for instance, where you can stare at her to your heart's content, and learn all the particulars since she cut her lucky—I mean since she ran off and left you in the lurch. Go; I know it will take you an hour, at least, to settle matters, and beg each other's pardon, and smoke the pipe of peace, and so on; and, meantime, as it is necessary the company should know who it is, I'll whisper it as a great secret into the ear of the first lady I meet, and get her to promise not to tell. There! vanish!"
Passing his hand across his eyes, as if to dispel a mist, Richmond offered her his arm and led her toward the conservatory, followed by the wondering eyes of the guests.
But Mr. Curtis had no need to tell. Miss Harper was there, and recognized her with a suppressed shriek; and in an instant after, like wild-fire, it ran through the room that this dark, beautiful stranger was the mysterious wife of Mr. Wildair.
Dancing was no longer thought of. Everybody flocked around Mr. Curtis, and such an avalanche of questions as was showered upon him human ears never listened to before. Had he possessed a thousand tongues he could hardly have answered one-half. But he did not try to answer them. Mr. Dick Curtis was a sensible young man, and never attempted impossibilities; so he only folded his arms and looked around him complacently, listening with the profoundest attention to all, but answering never a word; until, at last, when quite tired and breathless, there was a pause, he lifted up his voice and spoke:
"Ladies and gentlemen: On the present interesting and facetious occasion allow me to say—(ahem!)—to say——"
[Here a voice in the crowd, that of Mr. Henry Gleason, if you remember that young gentleman, reader, interrupted with, "You have said it! Push along, old boy!">[