At this juncture, unobserved, Ouida, accompanied by Paul, enter at the rear, but are partially concealed by large and rich portieres. Ouida had been searching for Doane, in order to soothe his wounded feelings, although not at fault herself. She heard herself as the subject of Doane’s conversation, but hardly thought it would take the shape it did. She intended, in the midst of it, to burst in and turn it into something amusing at Doane’s expense. “The most astonishing part of it all,” said Doane, “is her well-known life here in New York. At twelve, Ouida, who was the natural daughter of a woman of the town and Albert Angelo, was a child of the street. How she lived, she hardly knew herself. Lovers she had by the score. She became a model. She would just as willingly sit nude, as attired in silks and satins. One day Warde discovered that she possessed talent, nay, genius, of a high order. She was inspired to uplift herself out of base conditions. She was sent abroad, where, between her scrapes and love affairs, she studied. The power of art dowered her with wondrous victories. One or two conceptions a year brought her a fortune. She became rich enough to gratify every whim. She came here three years ago, having lost none of her Bohemian characteristics. Society has opened its arms; as you see, it worships her.” Paul breaks away from Ouida, and confronts Doane, anger and contempt leaping from his eyes. “A wonderful story! Is it fully told?” said Paul. “Do these gentlemen know all?” “All!” said Doane, “all, man? Why, could more possibly be crowded into the life of one woman?” “Yes, slanderous cur,” thundered Paul, as he slapped Doane’s face with his glove. “Give them the finish. She marries me tomorrow night.” CHAPTER XVII. 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.”