Eugene Mallard did not look up as his young wife entered the room. He was gazing so steadily out of the window that he did not even hear her light footsteps. She went up to him timidly. Whatever she was about to say died away on her lips, for the expression on his face startled her. She had never seen him look so cross before.

At that moment the servant announced: "Mrs. and the Misses Staples!"

Eugene Mallard stepped forward quickly to receive them. How his face lighted up! Was it only her fancy, or did he hold the hand of the prettiest girl a moment longer than was necessary? Then he turned and introduced them to his young wife. Louisa and Dora Staples looked at her eagerly; she could see great surprise in their faces.

Were they disappointed in her? That was the first thought that crossed Ida's mind. How was she to know their thoughts? Dora Staples came forward, holding out her hands and blushing like a school-girl. Louisa stood back, gazing in puzzled wonder at the bride.

"We were very sorry that we could not be here to witness your home-coming and to participate in the grand wedding reception that every one is talking about even yet. But we were miles and miles away."

Then the conversation drifted into other channels.

A few moments later two gentlemen arrived—Captain Drury and Arthur Hollis. Ida remembered them well; they had been to the reception. The two girls were delighted at this acquisition to the party, and in a few moments Dora Staples had captured the dashing captain for a chat, leaving Arthur Hollis for her sister Louisa.

But Mr. Hollis was not in a mood to enjoy the senseless chatter of Miss Louisa Staples, for whom he inwardly felt a cordial dislike.

On the pretense of wishing to smoke a cigar, especially as her mother and Mrs. Mallard had joined the group, he begged her to excuse him for a little while. He saw his host on the terrace, and stepped out of the long French window, and went at once to where he stood.

"I congratulate you upon the rare beauty of your wife," he said, touching him familiarly upon the arm. "I thought her exceedingly pretty the first time I saw her; she has grown more beautiful since."

"I really ought to be obliged to you for the compliment," returned Eugene Mallard, laughingly.

"You ought to love her very much, for she is worth loving," said Arthur Hollis, bluntly, as he knocked the ashes from his cigar.

"Has any one told you that I do not?" asked Mallard, quickly.

"No, certainly not; but she does not look happy," returned Hollis, thoughtfully. "As a friend of many years' standing, I feel myself privileged to speak without reserve to you, my old comrade. Forgive me for saying that though your bride's eyes ought to be filled with sunshine, they are noticeably sad and dreary. Hers is not a happy face, Eugene."

Mr. Mallard frowned. He had heard quite enough of this topic. His wife's face did not interest him. Arthur Hollis had been his friend for long years; they had been chums from childhood. Suddenly Eugene turned and laid his hand on Arthur Hollis's shoulder.

"I have a strange explanation to make to you," he said in a voice husky with emotion. "Your keen eyes have discovered, Hollis, what I would fain have kept from you. A full confession is good for the soul, they say, and I will tell you this much, Arthur: the girl whom I told you so much about, is not the one whom I have married. At the altar, in a dimly lighted church, this girl took the place of the one whom I was to wed, and I did not find it out until we had been pronounced man and wife."

Hollis could not have been more completely astounded if a volcano had opened at his feet.

Eugene Mallard had to repeat his words before Hollis could grasp the whole meaning of what he had heard.

"You must not think that I wronged her in any way, that she had any claim upon me," went on Eugene Mallard, huskily. "Do not judge me too hastily. It all came about through a mistake. She—she—mistook me for Royal Ainsley, my cousin, and hearing that I was to be married, came there, and—and, by the aid of a woman, succeeded in becoming my bride. And now, because of it, three lives are ruined. I am trying to make the best of it, but it seems, at times, as though I will not be able to bear up under it—my whole heart belonging to one woman, while I am wedded to another."

"Great heavens!" exclaimed Hollis. "I did not dream of such a state of affairs!"

"She is my wife in name only," added Eugene Mallard, bitterly. "I do not know what the future will bring forth. I can only say that I am trying to live it out as best I can. My life is full of wretchedness, and I can not see what will be the end of it all."

Now Arthur Hollis could readily understand the brooding look in Ida's eyes. Why she was graver, more thoughtful, more abstracted than when he had seen her last.

While they were talking, another carriage drove up.

They saw a beautiful face at the window.

"It is Vivian Deane," said Mr. Mallard.

Hollis looked surprised.

"I hope, my dear boy," he said in a tone of jest, beneath which was certainly a vein of earnestness, "that Miss Deane has got over her mad infatuation for you, now that she knows you are married!"

Mr. Mallard looked thoughtful.

"I suppose you are wondering why I invited her here," he said, slowly, "and I may as well tell you the truth, that you will not for a moment imagine I sent for her to indulge in a flirtation. Miss Deane wrote me that she was coming to pay my wife a fortnight's visit, so what could I do. Without waiting to receive a reply from me, here she is. You will come with me, and welcome her?"

"Certainly," said Hollis, understanding Eugene's position.

Miss Deane looked exceedingly annoyed as the two men approached.

She had calculated upon meeting Eugene alone. She meant to tell him in a few words that her life was ruined because of his marriage. Now she could only exchange the merest formal greeting. Biting her red lips fiercely, and forcing a smile to them, she held out her hand.

"I am so delighted at seeing you again, Mr. Mallard," she declared, giving Hollis a stiff, haughty bow.

Eugene assisted her from the carriage and avoided looking at her as much as possible—a fact which annoyed her exceedingly.

"And I am so anxious to see your bride," she continued.

Eugene could readily understand that, and so could Hollis.

Hollis followed his friend to the drawing-room. He stood by the young bride's side when Vivian Deane was presented to her.

He had expected to see an expression of bitter dislike on the doll-like pink-and-white face. He was surprised and relieved to see Vivian hold out her little hands and murmur in her cooing voice:

"I am so delighted to see you, Mrs. Mallard, I am sure we shall be friends."

Ida gazed anxiously, wistfully, into the pink-and-white face. Vivian's sea-blue eyes met her gaze unflinchingly; her red lips, which suggested more of art than nature, wore a mask of the sweetest smiles.

The young bride drew a deep breath of relief. She had been unnecessarily frightened, she told herself. Now that Vivian knew Eugene was married, she had in all probability resigned herself to the inevitable.

"Probably she has another lover by this time, and thinks no more of Eugene," thought Ida.