“There is a good deal of sense in what you say, Gladys,” returned her mother, “but these beautiful and expensive things represent branches of industries, and somebody must purchase them in order that certain classes of artisans may live. It is hard to know where to draw the line in these things. It would not be so questionable, though, if people would be really honest in their gifts and offer only what they could afford, instead of trying to outdo others from a feeling of vanity.” But, in spite of these practical discussions, there seemed to be no end to the accumulation of wedding gifts up to the last moment. The wedding-day dawned, a bright, mild winter morning, and every hour was filled with preparations for the important ceremony that was to occur early in the evening. Geoffrey saw but little of his betrothed that day, for he had many duties to attend to relating to their departure, and last instructions to receive regarding the business he had undertaken. But about two in the afternoon he came home to find Gladys just going to her room, from which she would not come forth again until she was prepared for her marriage. “I am only just in time, I perceive, to take leave of _Miss_ Gladys Huntress,” he said, smiling fondly upon her, as he drew her into the music-room, and shut the door, for a few moments’ private chat with her. “You do not look more than sixteen,” he continued, touching the light rings of hair that lay on her forehead, and smoothing the great satiny braid, that had been allowed to hang, like a schoolgirl’s, down her back, until the hair-dresser should come, “and very little as if a few hours would make you somebody’s—_wife_.” Gladys flushed at that last word, though a happy little laugh rippled from her lips. “Perhaps I shall appear more matronly by and by,” she said. “It is possible that putting ‘Mrs.’ before my name may make quite a change. How queer it will seem to be married and yet be Gladys Huntress still?” Geoffrey’s face clouded, and a pang shot through his heart. “I wish it could be otherwise, darling, I wish I had an honored name to give you,” he said, regretfully. Gladys put up her hand and drew down his head until their lips met. “Dear Geoff, forgive me,” she pleaded, in a tone of self-reproach, “I was very thoughtless to make such a speech. I shall be just as happy to be called Mrs. Geoffrey Dale Huntress, as anything else; my pride will not consist in my name, but in my husband.” His arms closed about her more fondly. He knew that she loved him with all the strength of her pure and noble nature—that she had chosen him from among the many admirers who would gladly have bestowed a proud name, as well as fortune, upon her, and that he ought to be content. But he was not; it rankled, like a thorn in his heart, that he had no name to give her—that for want of one he was compelled to assume hers.