"Just tell your father your
news, Dick."
The young man had no comprehension of the fact that he was only a
pawn in the game. He spoke with simple pride.
"Dad, we're married. Mary and I were married this morning."
Always, Mary stared with her eyes steadfast on the father. There
was triumph in her gaze. This was the vengeance for which she
had longed, for which she had plotted, the vengeance she had at
last achieved. Here was her fruition, the period of her
supremacy.
Gilder himself seemed dazed by the brief sentence.
"Say that again," he commanded.
Mary rejoiced to make the knowledge sure.
"I married your son this morning," she said in a matter-of-fact
tone. "I married him. Do you quite understand, Mr. Gilder? I
married him." In that insistence lay her ultimate compensation
for untold misery. The father stood there wordless, unable to
find speech against this calamity that had befallen him.
It was Burke who offered a diversion, a crude interruption after
his own fashion.
"It's a frame-up," he roared.
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