They received him most kindly, and he spent a pleasant hour with them.
As he took Star’s hand at parting, he bent down and kissed her fair, upturned face, while great, regretful tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I am sorry to lose you, dear,” he said; “but I know you will be happy, as you certainly deserve to be, and may Heaven bless you in your new life. I shall never forget how much I owe you—how you saved me by your kindness, and I know you will think of us all more kindly than we deserve.”
He did not give her time to reply, but turning, grasped Mr. Rosevelt’s hand, and then was gone.
A year later she heard that he was dead—that he died suddenly, after struggling hard with business and business troubles and that his family had been left in very reduced circumstances.
Through Ralph Meredith she caused a handsome sum to be invested, the income of which they were to enjoy while they should live, and she never saw or heard from them again.
St. George’s church, Hanover Square, was crowded upon Star Gladstone’s bridal morning, and “no bride so fair” had passed beneath its aristocratic arches for many a year, was the verdict which all Belgravia pronounced as it watched her leave the altar and move down the spacious aisle leaning upon the arm of her noble husband.
Her dress was of Lyons satin, and one of Worth’s most elegant productions. The lace which adorned it was the finest and costliest which far-famed Brussels could produce, and the vail “a perfect marvel.”
The bridal wreath was of delicate, feathery clematis, and was fastened to her head and vail with a set of five beautiful diamond stars, the gift of Jacob Rosevelt.