AN UNCANNY WEDDING.
The night of this strange and almost unnatural marriage had arrived.
Ouida had very sensibly invited but few guests. Some of them were
assembled in her mansion. Thence, it had been arranged, they should be
driven to the quiet and unostentatious church, where Horatio Nugent
would pronounce the simple words that would mate forever Ouida Angelo
to Paul Strogoff.
“I don’t like this marriage,” said Mr. Salmon, the lawyer. “Paul is a
fool, to marry Ouida Angelo. She is a great artist, but no creature for
wife to any man.”
“They love each other,” said Marie, indignantly. “I don’t see why they
should not marry.”
“Of course,” replied the father, “a young girl always looks into the
romance of the case. My experience in marriage settlements, and in the
divorce courts, teaches me that a marriage of this kind never turns out
well. By the way, how are you and young Clafton getting along?”
“Splendidly,” said Marie.
“That’s good. Now you are my own sweet child.”
“I am helping him court my cousin, Georgie. He likes her better than
you ever thought he cared for me. You see, father, I have never ceased
to truly love Milton. Pray, forgive me, but I thought the best way to
rid myself of Mr. Clafton’s attentions, was to have him fall in love
with Cousin Georgie. He has entered into the trap beautifully, and I
am spared much annoyance. Dear old dad, you are not mad?”
“I ought to be,” said Mr. Salmon, “but I cannot help admiring your
professional method in outwitting the old gentleman. Your scheme
was clever, even if I am the victim. But think not that I will ever
withdraw my objection to Milton.”
“I don’t expect you to,” said Marie with a deep sigh.
“Then you will give him up?”
“No,” said she, “I won’t ask your consent. We’ll slip off quietly some
day when he returns, and your newspaper friend, Doane, will, in his
journal, record an elopement.”
“Never worry,” said Salmon, much annoyed, “your Milton will never come
back. He’ll get tangled up in Rome with some Italian beauty, and she
will keep him abroad. These stone cutters always act that way.”
“Father,” said the girl, almost in tears, “you are most unkind and most
unjust,” and she left the room, looking for consolation.
Paul entered about this time, for the purpose of having an interview
with Mr. Salmon, who was his lawyer.
“These are the papers which the lady requested me to present to you.
She settles her entire fortune upon you, giving you full power to make
such disposition of the same as you see fit. In fact, she is most
liberal,” said Mr. Salmon.
“Are these the papers?” said Paul, as he took them from the hand of the
lawyer.
“Yes, they are all pinned together.”
Paul sat down and glanced over them. When he had finished their
perusal, which did not take long, he tore them up and threw the pieces
in the fire, where they were quickly devoured by the flames.
“What have you done?” said the startled lawyer.
“Nothing,” simply said Paul. “I refuse any gift of property from her.
On the contrary, you know exactly how my affairs stand. Convey to her,
by proper deeds and instruments, the full one-half of my fortune. The
cash transfer to her credit at the Chemical Bank.”
“But, sir--” said Salmon.
But he was interrupted by Paul, who said: “No buts, sir. This is my
will. Either carry out, with as little delay as possible, my expressed
desire, or I will be under the painful necessity of securing the
services of another lawyer.”
“I shall do as you desire, and--”
“Remember,” said Paul, as he left the lawyer’s presence, “not a word to
her. I must leave you now, to prepare for the ceremony.”
A few more guests had arrived by this time. Mr. Connors came, and
at about the same time Olivia Winters, the journalist, put in an
appearance in the room, accompanied by Marie.
“A queer wedding,” said Olivia, “and yet it may turn out well.”
“I am glad to see you, Miss Winters. It appears that we alone, of all
New York, have been honored by an invitation to the wedding.”
“And you, my dear Connors, were invited because, when Doane was
exuding, about Ouida, that venom which he cannot cut out of his nature,
you alone spoke up for her and her noble art, and the fame she had
justly achieved.”
“It is entirely immaterial to me,” said Mr. Connors “what she may have
been. I know only this, that, in my judgment, she is today the grandest
artist of the modern world, and as such, is entitled to my homage. As
far as this marriage is concerned, she is her own mistress. She can
marry whomsoever she fancies. There are many men in New York today, who
would sell their souls for her.”
“Are you one of them?” said Olivia.
“I decline to answer so leading a question,” said Mr. Connors, but not
ungraciously.
“I received my summons so hastily,” said Olivia, “that I am entirely
ignorant of particulars. Where will the ceremony take place, and who
will tie the knot?”
“Dr. Nugent,” answered Marie, “and at the church around the corner.”
“I thought,” said Olivia, “that Dr. Nugent had quit the ministry?”
“No,” said Mr. Connors, “but almost the same. He has resigned from the
pulpit of the First Church.”
“I have understood,” said Salmon, “that he promised to wed them at the
request of Ouida.”
Connors, joining in again at this time, said that he had heard, that at
one time Dr. Nugent had fallen a victim to the fascinating charms of
the sculptress.
“Some of the blackmailing sheets so reported,” chipped in Olivia, “but
no reputable journal fathered such a libel. One thing is true, this
wedding will eclipse all sensations of the year.”
“I wonder how Doane will take it?” said Connors.
“Badly, I think,” said Olivia. “He was hit hard in that direction.
Ouida’s is the only picture I have ever seen grace his sanctum.”
“Nonsense,” said Salmon, the practical, “what would Doane do with a
wife? He has been wedded to journalism so long that he’d forget his
matrimonial bonds.”
“Men who are not journalists think such a course in fashion these
days,” said Olivia.
“Doane said to me the other day,” remarked Mr. Connors, “that New
York was getting very dull and commonplace; that men were beginning,
actually, to fall in love with their own wives.”
“Don’t men always love and respect their wives?” asked Marie.
“Your arcadian simplicity is really refreshing,” laughed Olivia.
“Pray, wise one,” said Mr. Salmon, “don’t endow her with your superior
wisdom. I prefer my daughter as she is.”
“That’s the one great mistake made in our land today, in the rearing of
children. They are allowed to grow up in utter ignorance of the things
which, if they knew, would save them untold misery.”
“Right you are, Miss Winters,” said Mr. Connors. “If I should ever be
fortunate enough to marry, and be blessed with a boy, I should show him
around and acquaint him with life myself.”
“Say and think what you will, ladies and gentlemen,” said Marie, with
firmness, “I shall never marry a man unless I love him and he loves me,
and it will be my fault if I do not retain his devotion.”
“Hold fast to that sentiment, my child,” said Connors, solemnly, “and
may faith in it never forsake you.”
“Our carriage is below,” said Salmon, “let us hasten to the church,”
and the company departed from the house.