under the circumstances, did her credit.  She trusted that anything that had happened would not influence the love and duty she owed her husband.  Harold’s marriage to Miss Keeves was in the nature of a great surprise, but if it brought her brother happiness she would be the last to regret it; she hoped that, despite past events, she would be able to welcome her brother’s wife as a sister; she would not fail to come in time to greet her sister-in-law, but she would leave her husband in town, as he had important business to transact.

Some half hour before the time by which Harold and his wife could arrive at Melkbridge House, the Devitt family were assembled in the library; in this room, because it was on the ground floor, and, therefore, more convenient for Harold’s use, he having to be carried up and down stairs if going to other floors of the house.

Devitt was frankly ill at ease.  His wife did her best to bear herself in the manner of the noblest traditions (as she conceived them) of British matronhood.  Miss Spraggs talked in whispers to her sister of “that scheming adventuress,” as she called Mavis.  Victoria chastened agitated expectation with resignation; while Lowther sat with his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets.  At last a ring was heard at the front door bell, at which Devitt and Lowther went out to welcome bride and bridegroom.  Those left in the room waited while Harold was lifted out of the motor and put into the hand-propelled carriage which he used in the house.  The Devitt women nerved themselves to meet with becoming resolution the adventuress’s triumph.

Through the open door they could hear that Mavis had been received in all but silence; only Harold’s voice sounded cheerily.  The men made way for Mavis to enter the library.  It was by no means the triumphant, richly garbed Mavis whom the women had expected who came into the room.  It was a subdued, carelessly frocked Mavis, who, after accepting their chastened greetings, kept her eyes on her husband.  When the door was closed, Harold was the first to speak.

“Mother, if I may call you that! father! all of you!  I want you to hear what I have to say,” he began, in his deep, soothing voice.  “You know what my accident has made me; you know how I can never be other than I am.  For all that, this winsome, wonderful girl, out of the pity and goodness of her loving heart, has been moved to throw in her lot with mine—­even now I can hardly realise my immense good fortune” (here Mavis dropped her eyes), “but there it is, and if I did what was right, I should thank God for her every moment of my life.  Now you know what she is to me; how with her youth and glorious looks she has blessed my life, I hope that you, all of you, will take her to your hearts.”

A silence that could almost be heard succeeded his words; but Harold did not notice this; he had eyes only for his wife.