“I am glad to see you, Miss Winters. It appears that we alone, of all New York, have been honored by an invitation to the wedding.”
“And you, my dear Connors, were invited because, when Doane was exuding, about Ouida, that venom which he cannot cut out of his nature, you alone spoke up for her and her noble art, and the fame she had justly achieved.”
“It is entirely immaterial to me,” said Mr. Connors “what she may have been. I know only this, that, in my judgment, she is today the grandest artist of the modern world, and as such, is entitled to my homage. As far as this marriage is concerned, she is her own mistress. She can marry whomsoever she fancies. There are many men in New York today, who would sell their souls for her.”
“Are you one of them?” said Olivia.
“I decline to answer so leading a question,” said Mr. Connors, but not ungraciously.
“I received my summons so hastily,” said Olivia, “that I am entirely ignorant of particulars. Where will the ceremony take place, and who will tie the knot?”
“Dr. Nugent,” answered Marie, “and at the church around the corner.”
“I thought,” said Olivia, “that Dr. Nugent had quit the ministry?”
“No,” said Mr. Connors, “but almost the same. He has resigned from the pulpit of the First Church.”