Rockharrt, he had not the faintest idea that he had committed any breach
of propriety. The deuce, you say! Was it not his own eldest son's
wedding? Had he not a right to give away the bride? He never even asked
himself the question. He took it for granted as a matter of course.
Besides, was not he the greatest man present? And should not he do just
as he thought fit? So in utter ignorance of any offense given to any
one, the Iron King unbent his stiffness for once, and was very genial to
every one, especially to the chief justice, who, secretly offended as he
was, could not but respond to this friendliness.

Among the wedding guests around the board was the beautiful widow, Mrs.
Bloomingfield. Mrs. Pendletime had requested Mr. Rockharrt to take her
to the table, and he had offered her his arm, placing her at the board,
and seated himself beside her. The Iron King looked at the lady with
more interest than he would have felt had not Mr. Fabian invented a
rumor to the effect that he, Aaron Rockharrt, was addressing her.

He looked at the lady on his left critically. Yes; she was very
beautiful--very beautiful indeed! And, of course, she would accept him
at once if he should offer her his hand! Very beautiful! A tall, finely
rounded, radiant blonde, with a suit of warm auburn hair, which she wore
in a mass of puffs and coils high on her head; a brilliant, blooming
complexion, damask rose cheeks, redder lips, blue eyes, and a pure,
fine Roman profile--that means, among the rest, a hooked nose--a very
elegant and aristocratic nose indeed, but still a hooked nose. She
carried her head high, and her well turned chin a little forward, her
lip a little curled. All that meant a high spirit, intolerance of
authority, and danger, much danger, to a would-be despot. Oh! very
handsome, and very willing to marry the old millionaire. But--no! the
Iron King thought not! She would give him too much trouble in the
process of subjugation. He would none of her.

Cadet Haught, watching this pair from the opposite side of the table,
whispered to his sister, who sat on his right:

"As I live by bread, Cora, there is the aged monarch flirting with the
handsome widow! A thing unparalleled in human history. Or is it dreaming
I am?"

Cora lifted her languid dark eyes, looked across the table and answered:

"She is trying to flirt with him, I rather fancy."

"Wasted ammunition, eh, Cora?"

"I do not know," replied the young lady.

And then