Gladys was very quiet as her husband put her into the carriage, for the solemnity of the service was still upon her. He, too, seemed in a like mood, for he only gathered the hand that wore his ring close within his own, and thus they sat, mute from excess of joy, during their drive home.
Very tenderly the young husband helped his bride to alight, led her up the steps, never relinquishing her hand until he placed her beneath the magnificent arch at the lower end of the drawing-room, where they were to receive the congratulations of their friends.
They had driven back very rapidly, and thus they had gained several minutes to themselves before the arrival of any others.
“My darling! my wife!” said the exultant young husband, as he stretched forth his arms to gather his beautiful bride to his breast.
Gladys looked up with a startled, searching glance. Something in his tone had struck strangely on her ears, although he had spoken scarcely above a whisper. She saw that he was still somewhat pale, but his whole face was lighted with triumph.
“Geoff——” she began, then the word suddenly froze on her lips, a bewildered look shot in her eyes, when all at once she started away from him, flinging out her arms with a wild gesture of horror and loathing, her face as white as her dress, her eyes almost starting from her head.
“Everet Mapleson! Oh! Heaven! how came you here?” she shrieked.
He strode up to her, the look of triumph still on his pale face.
“Because I have a right to be here—beside my wife!”
“Never! never!” she panted, wildly. “You have no right—I am not your wife!”