He handed her out, drew her hand through his arm with a fond, protecting air, and they walked up the narrow graveled path together, the young man saying, encouragingly:
“It will be a great surprise to them, my bringing home a bride to-night; but they will love you for my sake!”
Slipping his latch-key into the door, he opened it, and led her into a small unlighted hall.
At the sound of their footsteps the parlor door opened quickly, and in the sudden light that streamed out, Viola saw a fair young girl standing smiling on the threshold—a petite blonde, lovely as a doll, with a glad light of welcome shining in her deep azure eyes.
“Rolfe!” she cried, joyously, before she perceived Viola.
But the next moment a startled look came over her face, and crying, “Oh!” in a voice of dismay, she darted back to a sofa where a handsome, dark-eyed woman lay resting with the weariness of an invalid.
To this lady Rolfe Maxwell led his pale bride, saying, smilingly:
“Mother, don’t get excited, please, but I have a great surprise for you and Mae. I was quietly married at Doctor Meade’s tonight, and this is my bride, Viola!”
There was a moment’s painful, embarrassing pause, and no wonder, because the shock of surprise had certainly been great, but it was broken by a startling incident.
“Married! Married! Oh, Heaven!” almost shrieked Mae Sweetland, despairingly, as she threw up her arms in the air, then sank unconscious to the floor.