ying even at forty," retorts Marcia,
with a shrill little laugh.

"And to do it in that way! Whatever possessed you to make such an idiot
of yourself. To bring _that_ man in the family!"

"You forget he is my husband, Mrs. Delancy," and Marcia braves her
resolutely.

At this moment the door opens and the obnoxious person enters, having
heard his wife's last sentence. He walks straight up to Laura, with
determination in every line of his countenance.

"Ah, Mrs. Delancy," he says, and then adds in a meaning tone, with a
kind of bitter suavity, "I suppose we do not need to be introduced.
Although I never was much of a visitor in my late partner's household,
I have known you all, and I suppose am entitled to a little friendly
recognition for Marcia's sake. We have taken our step in a most
unorthodox manner, but it suited ourselves, our only apology."

"Extremely unorthodox," says Laura, in a biting tone.

"But we propose to make it orthodox as soon as possible. Marcia, brave
girl, would have married me in the face of any staring audience. She
might have had a younger and handsomer bridegroom, but she can hardly
have a husband who will care more tenderly for her."

Laura is rather checked in her angry career. She dare not brave these
steel-gray eyes.

"We are all very much surprised; at least I am, having heard no word or
hint of it."

"We did keep our secret pretty well, I believe," and he glances fondly
at Marcia.

"Well," replies Laura, rising, "I suppose the best wish of all is that
you may not regret your step in haste."

"It was not so hasty as that," and he laughs, with the flavor of one
who has won.

Laura makes her adieus coldly, feeling outgeneralled by his evident
determination not to be put down.

"What are we to do?" she asks of madame, half an hour later. "This
horrid reception staring us in the face! Of course people will go out
of curiosity. Marcia always did delight in being talked about."

"But is her husband so horribly unpresentable?" and madame's beautiful
eyes are filled with sympathy.

"Oh, you can present _anything_ here in New York, that is the worst of
it!" cries Laura, angrily. "That is why I like Newport. And Marcia is
so utterly silly."

"But Mr. Wilmarth?"

"I hate the sight of him, and Marcia used to say everything about him.
He's humpbacked or something, and looks like a tiger. Well, I _do_ wish
her joy if ever he should get in a tantrum. You see, after all, the
idea of