"I wish, Madeleine," he had said one day, when he had waited two hours for her to return from a drive with Tom, "that you would have a little regard for appearances, if you have none for my wishes. It is not seemly for my betrothed wife to be driving all over the country with another man."
Magnificent Madeleine looked straight at him, tilting her head back slightly to look beneath her half-closed lids.
"It is not seemly," she said, "for my betrothed husband to imply that I could be at fault in a matter of propriety or punctilio. That is not possible."
"You are right," he said, and his eyes gleamed with admiration of her glorious beauty and imperious manner. "Forgive me,—you are indeed right."
Though Schuyler Carleton may not have been lavish of affection, he begrudged no admiration to the splendid woman he had won.
And yet, had he but known it, the apparently scornful and haughty girl was craving a more tender and gentle love, and would gladly have foregone his admiration to have received more affection.
"But it will come," Madeleine thought to herself. "I am not of the 'clinging vine' type, I know; but after we are married, surely Schuyler will be less formally polite, and more,—well,— chummy."
Yet Madeleine herself was chummy with nobody save Tom.
They two were always chatting and laughing together, and though they differed sometimes, and even quarrelled, it was quickly made up, and forgotten in a new subject of merry discussion.
But, after all, they rarely quarrelled except regarding Madeleine's approaching marriage.
"Don't throw yourself away on that iceberg, Maddy," Tom would plead. "He's a truly fine man, I know, but he can't make you happy."
"How absurd you are, Tom! Give me credit, please, for knowing my own mind, at least. I love Schuyler Carleton, and I am proud that he is to be my husband. He is the finest man I have ever known in every way, and I am a fortunate girl to be chosen by such a man."
"Oho, Maddy! Don't do the humble; it doesn't suit you at all. You are the type who ought to have 'kings and crown princes at your feet.' And Carleton is princely enough in his effects, but he's by no means at your feet."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Madeleine angrily.
"Just what I say. Schuyler Carleton admires you greatly, but he doesn't love you—at least, not as I do!"
"Don't be foolish, Tom. Naturally you know nothing about Mr. Carleton's affection for me—he does not proclaim it from the housetops. And I desire you not to speak of it again."
"Why should I speak of what doesn't exist? Forgive me, Maddy, but I love you so myself, it drives me frantic to see that man treating you so coolly."
"He doesn't treat me coolly. Or, if he does, it's because I don't wish for tender demonstrations before other people. I'm fond of you, Tom, as you know, but I won't allow even you to criticise the man I am about to marry."
"Oh, very well, marry him, then, and a precious unhappy life you'll lead with him,—and I know why."
Madeleine turned on him, her eyes blazing with anger.
"What do you mean? Explain that last remark of yours."
"Small need! You know why as well as I do;" and Tom pushed his hands into his pockets and strode away, whistling, well knowing that he had roused his cousin's even temper at last.
In addition to some of her Mapleton friends, Madeleine had invited two girls from New York to be her bridesmaids. Kitty French and Molly Gardner had already come and were staying at the Van Norman house the few days that would intervene before the wedding.
Knowing Madeleine well, as they did, they had not expected confidence from her, nor did they look forward to cosy, romantic boudoir chats, such as many girls would enjoy.
But neither had they expected the peculiar constraint that seemed to hang over all the members of the household.
Mrs. Markham had been so long housekeeper, and even companion, for Madeleine that she was not looked upon as a servant, and to her Kitty French put a few discreet questions regarding the exceeding reserve of Mr. Carleton.
"I don't know, Miss French," said the good woman, looking sadly disturbed. "I love Madeleine as I would my own child. I know she adores Mr. Carleton,—and—yes, I know he greatly admires her,—and yet there is something wrong. I can't express it—it's merely a feeling,—an intuition, but there is something wrong."
"You know Mr. Willard is in love with Maddy," suggested Miss French.
"Oh, it isn't that They've always had a cousinly affection for each other, and,—yes, Tom is in love with her,—but what I mean is aside from all that. The real reason that Madeleine flirts with Tom—for she does flirt with him-—is to pique Mr. Carleton. There! I've said more than I meant to, but you're too good a friend to let it make any trouble, and, anyway, in a few days they will be married, and then I'm sure it will be all right,—I'm sure of it."
Like many people, Mrs. Markham emphasized by repetition a statement of whose truth she was far from sure.
Chapter II.
Miss Morton Arrives
The day before the wedding the old house was a pleasant scene of bustle and confusion.
Professional decorators were in charge of the great drawing-room, building a canopy of green vines and flowers, beneath which the bridal pair should stand the next day at high noon.
This work was greatly hindered by a bevy of young people who thought they were helping.
At last, noting a look of dumb exasperation on the face of one of the florist's men, Molly Gardner exclaimed, "I don't believe our help is needed here; come on, Kitty, let's go in the library and wait for tea-time."
It was nearly five o'clock, and the girls found most of the house guests already assembled in the library, awaiting the arrival of the tea-tray.
Several other young people were there also, most of them being those who were to be of the wedding cortege next day.
Robert Fessenden, who was to be best man, had just come from New York, and had dropped in to see Miss Van Norman.
Although he was an old friend of Carleton's, Madeleine did not know him very well, and though she made him welcome, it was with that coldly formal air that did not greatly attract the young man, but he could not fail to be impressed by her great beauty.
"Lucky fellow, Carleton," he said to Tom Willard. "Why, that woman would create a sensation in any great city in the world."
"Yes, she is too handsome to live all her life in a small village," agreed Tom. "I think they intend to travel a great deal."
"An heiress, too, I believe."
"Yes, she has all the desirable traits a woman can possess."
"All?" Fessenden's tone was quizzical.
"What do you mean?" asked Tom sharply.
"Nothing; only, if I were to marry, I should prefer a little more softness of nature."
"Oh, that's only her manner. My cousin is most sweet and womanly, I assure you."
"I'm sure she is," returned Fessenden, who was a bit ashamed of his outspokenness; "and she's getting a sterling good fellow for a husband."
"She is so," said Tom, heartily, which was kind of him, considering his own opinion of Carleton.
And then both men strolled over to where Madeleine sat at the tea-table. She was reading a telegram that had just been brought to her, and she laughingly explained to Tom that it meant a bother for him.