“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.”