During our brief interview his eyes frequently wandered from mine to those plate-glass windows, as if something within were of vast interest to him.

“You’re looking fine, Carter,” I said, and he was; “St. Andrews must agree with you.”

He smiled placidly and his eye twinkled merrily through that monocle.

“I’m feeling fine!  Congratulate me, old fellow!”

The blow had fallen—­but I stood it better than I had dreamed would be possible!

A swarm of thoughts came to me in that instant, but I maintained my outward serenity.  I knew that he was a clean, honourable man and worthy in every way of the hand and heart of Grace Harding.  Possibly they had been long engaged.  All of my alleged rights and wrongs faded into thin air.  Besides, what was the use of whimpering?  It was a stunning blow, but I would stand it like a man.

“I do congratulate you, Carter!” I exclaimed, clasping his hand and looking him frankly in the eyes.  “You have won the most glorious woman on earth, and I esteem it an honour that I have had the privilege of meeting her and of enjoying her society!  I am—­”

“Confound it, man, you never met my wife!” said Carter.  “What on earth are you talking of, my dear Smith?  Ah, excuse me!”

He pushed past me to meet a radiant creature with laughing blue eyes who came from out that little store.  He smiled and took a tiny parcel from her hands.  Then he said something to her and they turned to me.

“Stella, my dear,” he said, her hand in his as they confronted the most dazed human on the face of the earth, “you have heard me talk so much of my dear friend, ‘Foxy Old Smith’; well, here he is!  Permit me to present Mr. John Henry Smith, champion of Woodvale, winner of the Harding Trophy, also Wizard of Finance!”

I assured Mrs. Carter that I was delighted to meet her, and if ever a man told the truth I did at that moment.  I said a lot of things, laughed so boisterously that Carter looked shocked; I told of the death of my uncle and grinned all the time.  I certainly must have made an impression on that lovely bride.

They compelled me to listen while they told of their marriage in London, nearly a week before.  She is an English girl, and Carter kept his word that he would be married in London.  Since she has never been in America, and since this was my first visit to Great Britain, it was evident I had not met her.

I do not know what Carter thought of my wild outburst.  He has not mentioned the subject, and I shall not bring it up.

“Where are the Hardings?” I asked, when I no longer could restrain my impatience.

“They are stopping at the Caledonia,” said Carter.  “You probably will find the Governor out on the links.  He has struck up a great friendship with ‘Old Tom’ Morris, and doubtless is playing with him right now.”

“I think I will go and look him up,” I said, as we came to a cross street.  “I have an important business matter in which he is interested.  I’ll see you at dinner.”