eign, queening it over these menials and
fancying herself adored. They showed _so_ plainly that they were awed by
her and were in ecstasies of admiration over her taste. And, as the
grounds and the house were transformed, Theresa's exaltation grew until
she went about fairly dizzy with delight in herself.

The bridesmaids and ushers came. They were wealth-worshipers all, and
their homage lifted Theresa still higher. They marched and swept about in
her train, lording it over the menials and feeling that they were not a
whit behind the grand ladies and gentlemen of the French courts of the
eighteenth century. They had read the memoirs of that idyllic period
diligently, had read with minds only for the flimsy glitter which hid the
vulgarity and silliness and shame as a gorgeous robe hastily donned by a
dirty chambermaid might conceal from a casual glance the sardonic and
repulsive contrast. The wedding day approached all too swiftly for
Theresa and her court. True, that would be the magnificent climax; but
they knew it would also dissipate the spell--after the wedding, life in
twentieth century America again.

"If only it don't rain!" said Harry Legendre.

"It won't," replied Theresa with conviction--and her look of command
toward the heavens made the courtiers exchange winks and smiles behind
her back. They were courtiers to wealth, not to Theresa, just as their
European prototypes are awed before a "king's most excellent Majesty,"
not before his swollen body and shrunken brain.

And it did not rain. Ross arrived in the red sunset of the wedding eve,
Tom Glenning, his best man, coming with him. They were put, with the
ushers, in rooms at the pavilion where were the squash courts and winter
tennis courts and the swimming baths. Theresa and Ross stood on the front
porch alone in the moonlight, looking out over the enchantment-like scene
into which the florists and decorators had transformed the terraces and
gardens. She was a little alarmed by his white face and sunken eyes; but
she accepted his reassurances without question--she would have
disbelieved anything which did not fit in with her plans. And now, as
they gazed out upon that beauty under the soft shimmer of the moonlight,
her heart suddenly expanded in tenderness. "I am _so_ happy," she
murmured, slipping an arm through his.

Her act called for a return pressure. He gave it, much as a woman's
salutation would have made him unconsciously move to lift his hat.