He was rich, she had always heard, and as his wife she could still
enjoy the luxuries to which she had been accustomed. She knew his
sister,--they had met in the salons of Saratoga,--and though it hurt
her pride to do it, she at last signified her willingness to be
again addressed.
It was many weeks ere Dr. Kennedy conquered wholly his olden grudge,
but conquered it he had, and she sat expecting him on the night when
first we introduced her to our readers. He had arrived in Troy on
the western train, and written her a note announcing his intention
to visit her that evening. For this visit Maude Glendower had
arrayed herself with care, wearing a rich silk dress of crimson and
black--colors well adapted to her complexion.
"He saw me at twenty-five. He shall not think me greatly changed
since then," she said, as over her bare neck and arms she threw an
exquisitely wrought mantilla of lace.
The Glendower family had once been very wealthy, and the last
daughter of the haughty race glittered with diamonds which had come
to her from her great-grandmother, and had been but recently reset.
And there she sat, beautiful Maude Glendower--the votary of fashion-
-the woman of the world--sat waiting for the cold, hard, overbearing
man who thought to make her his wife. A ring at the door, a heavy
tread upon the winding stairs, and the lady rests her head upon her
hand, so that her glossy curls fall over, but do not conceal her
white, rounded arm, where the diamonds are shining.
"I could easily mistake him for my father," she thought, as a gray-
haired man stepped into the room, where he paused an instant,
bewildered with the glare of light and the display of pictures,
mirrors, tapestry, rosewood, and marble, which met his view.
Mrs. Berkley, Maude Glendower's aunt, had stinted herself to gratify
her niece's whims, and their surroundings had always been of the
most expensive kind, so it was not strange that Dr. Kennedy,
accustomed only to ingrain carpet and muslin curtains, was dazzled
by so much elegance. With a well-feigned start the lady arose to her
feet, and going to his side offered him her hand, saying, "You are
Dr. Kennedy, I am sure. I should have known you anywhere, for you
are but little changed."
She meant to flatter his self-love, though, thanks to Maude
Remington for having insisted upon the broadcloth suit, he looked
remarkably well.
"She had not changed at all," he said, and the admiring gaze he
fixed upon her argued well for her success. It becomes us not to
tell how that strange wooing sped. Suffice it to say that at the
expiration of an hour Maude Glendower had promised to be the wife of
Dr. Kennedy when another spring should come. She had humbled herself
to say that she regretted her girlish freak, and he had so far
unbent his dignity as to say that he could not understand why she
should be willing to leave the luxuries which surrounded her and go
with him, a plain, old-fashioned man. Maude Glendower scorned to
make him think that it was love which actuated her, and she replied,
"Now that my aunt is dead, I have no natural protector. I am alone
and want a home."