“Let no one blame Royall Sherwood for what has been done. The plot was mine, and I did not know I was making a grave mistake. Of course, I knew that Daisie and Royall had broken their engagement, but I thought it was made up again, as he was going to see her the same every day. So when I knew that Daisie would help us with the entertainment to-night, and take the bride’s part in the mock wedding, I thought what a joke it would be--and not an unwelcome one, either--to marry them really. So I impulsively, without due thought, employed a real minister to read the ceremony, and--now they are tied fast, man and wife, as tight as law can bind them to each other.” There was a moment’s blank pause; then Royall Sherwood bent the knee humbly before silent, stricken Daisie, crying out in pleading accents: “She speaks truly; the plot was hers, unknown to me; but, Daisie, she read my heart aright, if not yours; for never had bride such a cordial welcome to a husband’s heart, and never would a loyal husband strive more patiently to win a wife’s love, if you will give yourself to me in truth, as you are mine already by to-night’s vow.” But she shrank from his extended arms, with a cry of woe that made Dallas Bain soothe her with warning words: “Do not let him frighten you, Daisie; for who knows but that he was in the plot which he disclaims so glibly? If you do not want him as a husband, do not take him; for the law will free you from this fraud that has been perpetrated on you. Your friends will join with me in taking your part.” “‘Whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder,’” quoted the widow flippantly. “Do not bring that sacred name into such a farce!” rebuked Dallas sternly. At that moment Daisie sprang to the window and gazed with straining eyes into the thronged drawing-room. The next moment she stepped over the low sill, and disappeared. They followed her--the anxious three--and presently they saw her force her way through a pleasant group surrounding the clerical-looking young man who had performed the marriage ceremony. She rushed up to him, and, clutching his sleeve with her little hand, cold and white as a snowflake, she cried shrilly, not caring if the whole world heard: “Is it true that you are a real minister? That that marriage was real, and not a sham, as I thought?” He turned on her with dignified eyes of surprise and disapproval, saying stiffly: “Certainly, I am a real minister, and the marriage was real. What else?” “But it was meant for a sham. I never would have given my consent to the reality,” she cried, in breathless dismay. He turned startled eyes on her excited face, and exclaimed: “But Mrs. Fleming employed me. Surely she knew!”