every word.

"Rather superb style of thing, all this," one said. "When Dick Fletcher
does this sort of thing, he does do it. Wonderful luck he's had, for a
poor devil, who five years ago hadn't a rap; and that wife of
his--magnificent Marian--most lovely thing the sun shines on."

"Too lovely, my friend, for--she's ice."

"Ah! To her husband? Married him for his fortune, didn't she? The old
story, very poor, very proud; and sold to the highest bidder. Craymore
stood to win there once, didn't he?"

"It was a desperate flirtation--an engagement, the knowing ones do say;
but Capt. Craymore knows better than to indulge in such a luxury as a
penniless wife. So Fletcher came along, made rich by a sudden windfall,
and she's Mrs. Fletcher to-night; and more beautiful and queenly than
ever. I watched her dancing with Craymore half an hour ago, and--Well,
I didn't envy Fletcher, if he is worth half a million. Let's go back to
the house, it's beginning to rain."

"Suppose Fletcher were to lose his fortune--what then?"

"My good fellow, he would lose his wife in the same hour. Some women
there are who would go with their husbands to beggary--and he's a fine
fellow, too, is Fletcher; but not the lovely Marian. There, the rain
begins!"

The shadow among the beeches stood stiller than stone. A long, low wind
worried the trees, and the rain beat its melancholy drip, drip. Half an
hour, an hour, two, passed, but the figure leaning against the iron-gate
was as still as the iron itself. But slowly he stirred at last, became
conscious he was dripping, and passed slowly out of the rainy gloom, and
up the lamplit-avenue, and into the stately home, that, after to-night,
would be his no more.

Another half-hour, and he was back in the glitter and dazzle and music
of the brilliant suit of drawing-rooms, his wet garments changed, the
fixed whiteness of his face telling but little of his sudden blow. He
had not been missed; his radiant three months' bride shone there in
diamonds, and laces, and roses resplendent--and who was to think of the
rich Fletcher! "Only a clod," whom she had honored by marrying. Capt.
Craymore was by her side, more fascinating than ever. How could she find
time to think of any one so plebeian as the underbred rich man she had
married, by his entrancing side?

But it was all over at last. The "lights were fled, the garlands dead,"
and Mrs. Fletcher up in her dressing-room, in the raw morning light, was
under the