At the wedding he was one of the gayest of the guests, and he and Miss Yorke were, as the newspapers stated, undoubtedly the handsomest couple of all the attendants.  No one congratulated Mrs. Wentworth with more fervid words.  To be sure, his eyes sought the bride’s with a curious expression in them; and when he spoke with her apart a little later, there was an air of cynicism about him that remained in her memory.  The handsomest jewel she received outside of the Wentworth family was from him.  Its centre was a heart set with diamonds.

For a time Louise Wentworth was in the seventh heaven of ecstasy over her good fortune.  Her beautiful house, her carriages, her gowns, her husband, and all the equipage of her new station filled her heart.  She almost immediately took a position that none other of the young brides had.  She became the fashion.  In Norman’s devotion she might have quite forgotten Ferdy Wickersham, had Ferdy been willing that she should do so.  But Ferdy had no idea of allowing himself to be forgotten.  For a time he paid quite devoted attention to Alice Yorke; but Miss Alice looked on his attentions rather as a joke.  She said to him: 

“Now, Ferdy, I am perfectly willing to have you send me all the flowers in New York, and go with me to the theatre every other night, and offer me all the flattery you have left over from Louise; but I am not going to let it be thought that I am going to engage myself to you; for I am not, and you don’t want me.”

“I suppose you reserve that for my fortunate rival, Mr. Lancaster?” said the young man, insolently.

Alice’s eyes flashed.  “At least not for you.”

So Ferdy gradually and insensibly drifted back to Mrs. Wentworth.  For a little while he was almost tragic; then he settled down into a state of cold cynicism which was not without its effect.  He never believed that she cared for Norman Wentworth as much as she cared for him.  He believed that her mother had made the match, and deep in his heart he hated Norman with the hate of wounded pride.  Moreover, as soon as Mrs. Wentworth was beyond him, he began to have a deeper feeling for her than he had ever admitted before.  He set before himself very definitely just what he wanted to do, and he went to work about it with a patience worthy of a better aim.  He flattered her in many ways which, experience had told him, were effective with the feminine heart.

Ferdy Wickersham estimated Mrs. Wentworth’s vanity at its true value; but he underestimated her uprightness and her pride.  She was vain enough to hazard wrecking her happiness; but her pride was as great as her vanity.

Thus, though Ferdy Wickersham flattered her vanity by his delicate attentions, his patient waiting, he found himself, after long service, in danger of being balked by her pride.  His apparent faithfulness had enlisted her interest; but she held him at a distance with a resolution which he would not have given her credit for.