But she carried her point, after all, and a few of her companions at the factory—Sadie Allen, Belva Platt, Mrs. Jones, the forewoman, and a few others—were specially invited, and Fair delivered to each a message from Mr. Lorraine to the effect that they would be conveyed in carriages from the church to his residence.

The carriages were really there, and so were the bridal party—Fair in a simple white dress and hat such as a pretty girl may wear to church any Sunday, and the invited guests all in gala attire, and on the tiptoe of expectation. The groom looked pale and grave, but remarkably handsome, in his black suit, and Fair felt him tremble perceptibly as he drew her hand through his arm and led her before the waiting minister, who, with the short, simple ritual of the Baptist Church, soon made them one.

Mrs. Fielding was beaming with pride and pleasure. She felt that her aim was accomplished. With all her disadvantages, she had married her daughter off as well as any scheming society mamma. She drew a sigh of relief at the thought that there was no more work for beautiful Fair, nor herself—only luxury, ease, and pleasure, with jewels and fine dresses.

She kissed her daughter most fondly, and followed the bridal party out to the carriages that were waiting to convey them to the Fifth Avenue mansion. She found herself placed in one with Mrs. Jones, Miss Platt, and Sadie Allen as companions. As she was being borne through the streets to her destination, she thought complacently:

“It is the last time I expect to associate with any of the factory people except Miss Platt. I shall make an exception in her favor, as she is the friend of my son-in-law, and as she, in a manner, helped Fair to win him—as, but for her, we would never have known him. Yes. I will invite her to Fifth Avenue sometimes, and I will try to make a good match for her among some of George’s rich friends.”

The carriage came to an abrupt pause, and the driver appeared at the door to help the ladies out. Mrs. Fielding glanced out at the narrow, ill-lighted street, lined with rows of shabby tenement houses, and exclaimed:

“Don’t get out, ladies. That is not Fifth Avenue. There is some mistake, driver.”

“No mistake, mum. Gentl’man told me this street and number,” replied the man; and Miss Platt, who had already sprung to the pavement, looked back and observed:

“There certainly must be some mistake, but all the others have gone into the house, so we had better follow them and find out what is the matter.”

So Mrs. Fielding followed with foreboding curiosity, and Belva Platt led them into a shabby, creaky, moldy old tenement house, and up two illy lighted and steep staircases to the third story, where, in a small room, they came upon an interesting tableau.

The room was poor and mean, but scrupulously neat, and the cane-seated chairs ranged around the room had a forlorn company look, as had also the table in the middle of the floor, which was generously loaded with refreshments, consisting of stale pound cake, beer, oranges, bananas, and a plate of candy. In this festal apartment, dimly lighted by a flaring kerosene lamp, stood George Lorraine and his astonished bride, with several of the girls whom he had invited to the wedding reception. They had apparently just entered the room, and before any one else could utter a word Mrs. Fielding burst upon the scene, exclaiming:

“Mr. Lorraine, why have we come to this house? Surely there must be some mistake!”

Belva Platt laughed aloud, a malicious laugh that drew all eyes upon her; and George Lorraine, who had suddenly grown very pale, and whose frame was trembling with emotion, answered:

“No-o, Mrs. Fielding, there isn’t any mistake. This is my—my—home. I have suddenly lost all my riches!”

Mrs. Fielding stood like a statue of despair, glaring at her son-in-law, with his strange words ringing in her ears like the knell of hope.

The pale young bride had heard, too. Whiter she could not grow, for she had looked like a lily ever since she had left home to go to church, and her lovely face wore a shadow very unlike that of a happy bride. But at those words from her new-made husband’s lips, she started and gazed intently at him, with a blank despair in her glance that was lost on him, for his eyes were bent upon the floor, and, in place of his usual jaunty, confident mien, he seemed dejected and abashed; and no wonder, for a buzzing whisper of surprise sounded all around him from the surprised guests, and above it all there echoed a low, derisive laugh replete with enjoyment of the scene. It came from the lips of Belva Platt, and her blue eyes glowed with ghoulish glee as she fixed them on the pale, startled face of the hapless girl on whom she had taken such a cruel revenge.

It pleased her to see the lovely, dimpled, childish face that had wiled away Waverley Osborne’s heart looking so wan and wild and frightened.

Mrs. Fielding, who had been choking and gasping in the effort to speak, after the shock of surprise she had received, suddenly turned her eyes upon Belva, and said, sternly as her unsteady voice would permit:

“Miss Platt, I would like to know what amuses you? Is this a laughing matter?”

Belva made her a mocking bow, and answered:

“Yes, madam, I find it very amusing.” Then she went off into a peal of sardonic laughter, crying maliciously: “So the bridegroom has suddenly lost all his riches—ha, ha, ha! What a good joke!”

Sadie Allen went up to her and roughly shook her arm.

“Belva Platt, behave yourself! You are acting like a crazy woman. Have you no decency?”

But Belva shook off the remonstrating hand, and, laughing more wildly than before, looked at Mrs. Fielding. She saw that the pale bride had glided to her mother’s side, and was clinging to her with trembling hands.

“Mother,” she faltered, “you will make them explain, won’t you, dear? This is horrible! She frightens me with her laughter; it has such a dreadful sound.”

“Yes—what does it all mean?” exclaimed Mrs. Jones curiously. “Why, I heard that Mr. Lorraine was rich, and that we were invited to his wedding reception at a Fifth Avenue mansion,” and she glanced contemptuously around the mean apartment, and then looked, with a little feminine triumph, at Mrs. Fielding, the woman whom she cordially despised for her aristocratic airs.

Sadie Allen came forward to the silent, half-dazed bridegroom, and said curtly:

“Come, Mr. Lorraine, we want you to explain the meaning of this. You have pretended to be rich all this time, and if you have fooled Fair Fielding, why, I say you are no gentleman—that’s all.”

He looked up at her helplessly, and, with an appealing glance in his dark eyes, muttered incoherently:

“I couldn’t help it! She made me do it. I was in her power. She threatened——”

“She? Who is she? Not Fair? Not Mrs. Fielding?” exclaimed Sadie, and before he could answer Belva Platt come up to them, and, dropping a mocking curtsy, interposed defiantly:

“I am she! I planned it all. I made him marry Fairfax Fielding!”