“We were married. Lady Leverick refused to see, or even receive a letter from my darling; and my brother Eustace, in lieu of a wedding present, sent a curt note informing me that I was a madman. A madman I was, but my mania was full of joy. Could heaven be fuller of bliss than was my life in those first three months? My income was all we had, but Gladys had had little luxury, and we laughed together over our poverty, resolutely determining to be strictly economical. We took a small house in St. John’s Wood, and then began my first real experience of life. I sighed over the money I had wasted, but Gladys never let me sigh twice, and always declared that she would manage everything. Out of all my old friends, I invited only two to our home, Guy Conway and Hugh Everest; but very happy little reunions we had. “We were quite alone, and though Gladys tried over and over again to reinstate herself with her aunt, from affectionate desire only, she failed. Lady Leverick would not see her or own her, and my darling had only me in the wide world. “How happy I was then! Through Everest’s influence, I obtained a secretaryship of a good club, and the addition to our income was most welcome and helpful. “The months slipped by with incredible swiftness and sweetness till a year was gone and our baby born. All this time Conway and Everest were our beloved and most intimate friends, and Gladys seemed to like them both. We christened the child Margery, but she was to me no earthly being--her beauty and delicacy seemed scarcely mortal. She was like her mother, and both were marvels of loveliness, so much so that Conway, who was a bit of an artist, insisted on painting them in angel forms. “Have you ever seen a storm gather in a summer sky and in one moment darken the brightness of the sunshine with gray, heavy clouds? Yes? Then you can conceive how my life was changed by a swift, fell stroke that almost crushed my manhood. I was much occupied at the club, and was away from home many hours. Sometimes it struck me, when I returned at night, that my wife’s face was disturbed and sad, but the feeling did not last, and as soon as we were together the expression changed. “One evening I was leaving the club, and, in passing out of the door to enter the cab--I could afford that luxury now--I felt myself touched on the arm, and, turning, found myself face to face with Hugh Everest. I welcomed him warmly, yet something in his manner sent a chill to my heart. “‘Dismiss your cab and walk a little way with me; I want to speak to you,’ he said. I turned to the cabman and did as my friend wished. “‘Now what is your important business, Everest?’ “‘Have you seen Conway to-day?’ he asked, abruptly. “‘Conway? Yes. He came to say good-by; he starts for Monte Carlo to-night. Nothing wrong with him, I hope?’ “‘Not with his health.’ “I turned and looked at Everest; he was deadly pale and greatly agitated.