It did not please Gila to have him take that place in the wedding party.  He knew her shame, and she could not trail her wedding robes as guilelessly before him now, nor lift her imperious little head, with its crown of costly blossoms, before the envious world, without realizing that she was but a whited sepulcher, her little rotten heart all death beneath the spotless robes.  For she was keen enough to know that she was defiled forever in Courtland’s eyes.  She might fool Tennelly by pleading innocence and deceit, but never Courtland.  For his eyes had pried into her very soul that night he had discovered her in sin.  She had a feeling that he and his God were in league against her.  No, Gila did not want Courtland to be Tennelly’s best man.  But Tennelly had insisted.  He had given in about almost every other thing under heaven, and Gila had had her way, but he would have Courtland for best man.

She drooped her long lashes over her lovely cheeks, and trailed her white robes up a long aisle of white lilies to the steps of the altar; but when she lifted her miserable eyes in front of the altar she could not help seeing the face of the man who had discovered her shame.  It was a case of her little naked, sinful soul walking in the Garden again, with the Voice and the eyes of a God upon it.

Lovely!  Composed!  Charming!  Exquisite!  All these and more they said she was as she stood before the white-robed priest and went through the ceremony, repeating, parrot-like, the words:  “I, Gila, take thee, Llewellyn—­” But in her heart was wrath and hate, and no more repentance than a fallen angel feels.

When at last the agony was over and the bride and groom turned to walk down the aisle, Gila lifted her pretty lips charmingly to Tennelly for his kiss, and leaned lovingly upon his arm, smiling saucily at this one and that as she pranced airily out into her future.  Courtland, coming just behind with the maid of honor, one of Gila’s feather-brained friends, lolling on his arm, felt that he ought to be inexpressibly thankful to God that he was only best man in this procession, and not bridegroom.

When at last the bride and groom were departed, and Courtland had shaken off the kind but curious attentions of Bill Ward, who persisted in thinking that Tennelly had cut him out with Gila, he turned to Pat and whispered, softly: 

“For the love of Mike, Pat, let’s beat it before they start anything else!”

Pat, anxious and troubled, heaved a sigh of relief, and hustled his old friend out under the stars with almost a shout of joy.  Nelly was caught and bound for a season.  Poor old Nelly!  But Court was free!  Thank the Lord!

Courtland was almost glad that he went immediately back to hard work again and should have little time to think.  The past few days had wearied him inexpressibly.  He had come to look on life as a passing show, and to feel almost too utterly left out of any pleasure in it.