In the now almost incessant “duty service” near his beautiful fiancée
, Vreeland a hundred times endeavored to trace back James Garston’s early life. But the blue-eyed Nixie who was soon to be his wife only laughed merrily.
“Pray remember, sir, that Senator Garston is my guardian. After my dear father’s death, my mother went abroad, and I was educated in the ‘Sacré
Cœur’ Convent at Brussels. Her death left me alone in the world.
“‘Uncle James’ had been almost forgotten by me in the thirteen years which we passed in Paris and Brussels, and as I left the West a mere child, all my memories are the vanishing dreams of childhood. All his social past is a sealed book to me.”
Vreeland was fain to be content, as the lovely ingenue concluded: “All I know is that he has always managed my affairs, and that his personal history is linked with the development of the whole region west of the Rockies. Why, you should know his history from your own Western wanderings.”
“Was he ever married?” timidly hazarded Vreeland. But, the young society queen only laughed back.
“Ask him! And then ponder now the possibility of another marriage. You are now, sir, to take me driving. The only marriage which concerns you, is a joint affair.”
That afternoon, as they drove through the park under the chaperonage of the amiable Mrs. Volney McMorris, Vreeland unsuccessfully endeavored to allay his recent dissatisfaction at the absence of any womanly background for the highly polished “Western diamond,” which he was soon to win and wear for life.
The story of the young heiress was smooth enough and faultlessly delivered. Vreeland forebore to “pump” Mrs. McMorris, for he was well aware that she was “all things to all men,” and her voluble explanations would carry no real conviction.