“In vino veritas!” he mused to himself.  Truly the wine had spoken plainly.  The cloven hoof was clearly visible.  It was not so much the congenial companion, the soul-mate which Robert Stafford saw in Virginia Blaine as it was a lovely young animal for the gratification of his lust, his appetites.  What marriage, based on that idea, could be a happy one?  He felt sorry for the girl.  If he knew her well or cared enough, he would warn her that his friend was not the marrying kind of man.  Of course, Stafford would do the honorable thing, go through a marriage ceremony, make a handsome settlement and all that sort of thing; but when it came to leading a quiet, regular, domesticated life, he simply was incapable of it—­that’s all.  He had enjoyed liberty too long to wear the harness now.  He was too much of the viveur, too fond of his club, his poker parties and little midnight suppers with fair ladies.  Once the novelty of marriage had worn off, he would return to the old life and then there would be the devil to pay.  The wife would find it out, there would be a row, with court proceedings, alimony and all the rest of it.  Or perhaps she would suffer and say nothing, as so many do.  Anyway, he was sorry for the girl.

Stafford looked at him and laughed boisterously.

“What’s the matter, old top?  You’re as serious to-day as some bewhiskered old college professor.  Stop your philosophizing and let’s have some more wine.  I’ll match you for another bottle.  Come, now.”

Hadley shook his head and rose.

“No more for me,” he said firmly.  “You don’t want any, either.  Let’s go.”

“Which direction are you going?”

“Up Fifth Avenue.  Coming my way?”

“Yesh—­I’m with you—­only I must stop in Forty-second Street first—­at a jeweller’s—­to get a ring I ordered.”  Grinning stupidly at Hadley, he went on:  “Great idea—­diamonds!  You can do anything with a woman if you give her all the jewels she wants!  See, my boy?”

A few minutes more and the two men, the taller one of whom walked somewhat unsteadily, were on Fifth Avenue, making their way towards Forty-second Street.

Ten days later there appeared among the society notes of the New York Herald this paragraph: 

“Robert Stafford, the well-known railroad promoter, was married yesterday at St. Patrick’s Cathedral to Virginia Blaine, second daughter of the late John Blaine, once a well-known lawyer of this city.  The ceremony was strictly private, the marriage being known only to a few intimate friends.  The young couple sailed yesterday afternoon for Europe on their honeymoon.”

CHAPTER XI

The Stafford wedding was a nine-days’ sensation and then people forgot all about it.  Society mothers with marriageable daughters said that it was scandalous for a man of wealth and position to throw himself away on a penniless nobody, and malicious tongues freely predicted that before long the railroad man would regret the foolish step he had taken.