She—­beautiful and penniless, ambitious, and a devotee of pleasure—­yet dependent for food and clothing upon her mother’s life-interest in an estate, not one penny of which would revert to her children at her decease; without kindred and without society in the elegant suburb they had inhabited for four or five years, might have been elated at a less brilliant match than that she had made.  The “best people” of the aforesaid suburb were exclusive; slow to form intimacies with their unaccredited neighbors, and very hasty in breaking them at the faintest whiff of a doubtful or tainted reputation.  And of the second best the Dorrances had kept themselves clear.  Having met and captivated her wealthy lover on a rarely fortunate summer jaunt, made in company with her eldest brother, his wife, and two relatives of the last-named, Clara did not repel him or disgust the best people of Roxbury by indiscreet raptures over, or exhibition of, her prize.

“I feel with you an invincible repugnance to throwing open our hearts to the inspection of the unsympathizing world, at the most sacred moment of our lives,” she said, in stating her preference for a quiet morning-wedding, a family breakfast, and instant departure upon their bridal-trip.  “If I begin to invite my friends and neighbors, our cottage—­lawn and garden included—­would not contain them, and after all were asked whom I could rememher, as many more would be mortally offended at being forgotten.”

The bridegroom gladly acquiescing, with a compliment to her womanly delicacy, the ceremony was performed in the presence of the bride’s nearest relatives; an elegant repast was served, at which the Dorrance plate made an imposing show, and Clara turned her back upon the scenes and reminiscences of her past life to commence the world anew.

Yes, she had done very well for herself—­how wonderfully well she knew better than did any one else, and at this date she had fresh cause for self-gratulation.  Through her, Herbert, her favorite brother, was likely to form an alliance which would be a timely and substantial stepping-stone to his aggrandizement and wealth.  There were more reasons why she should hold her head higher—­why the blood should clothe her cheek with a richer carmine, and a smile encircle the mouth, as one swift glance took in the spacious, luxurious room, thronged with well-dressed aristocrats, her husband the stateliest, most honored of them all, yet her fond thrall; the splendid apparel in which his wealth had bedecked her, the queen of the scene—­more reasons, I say, for the ineffable thrill of pleasure that coursed, a rapid, intoxicating stream, through her veins, than grateful affection for the author of all these goods.  With a Sybarite’s dread of pain and loneliness, she seldom trusted herself to look at the dark curtain in the background, against which her latter-day glories shone the more dazzlingly.  But to-night she felt safe upon her throne—­sat, the lady of kingdoms, sultana in the realm of her spouse’s heart and in his domain, and could stare full upon the past—­could measure, without shuddering, the height of her actual and assumed estate above—­