She knew that never for a moment had she swerved in the least degree from her allegiance to him; that her heart had been true and loyal to him, even when she had thought most bitterly of him; and she knew, too—this was the worst of all to contemplate—that she should go on loving him as long as she lived.
Five days they had been married.
The wedding had occurred the tenth of December, and it was now the fifteenth.
It almost seemed as if she would have given as many years of her life to have saved him from such a fate as she believed would be his with that vain and heartless girl for his life-long companion.
Of course it would do no good to grieve over that now; but her own future looked like a weary journey, marked only by the mile-stones of duty, without a stage of happiness to cheer her along the way.
She had known nothing of the Richardses coming abroad; that notice of Josephine’s marriage had been the first intimation that she had had of it.
She wondered if she had not sent her that paper—if, having seen their names and address registered at the American Legation, she had not, from a spirit of cruel triumph, sent it to wound and humiliate her.
Yes, she was sure it must be so.
But she should never know how fully her vile purpose had been accomplished. She would hide her anguish deep within her own heart. Wherever she went she would appear with a bright face and smiling lips, and no one should dream that her heart lay like a withered thing in her bosom.
Mr. Rosevelt came in to see her several times during the day, and she always smiled and told him she was resting so as to be fresh for the evening.