Quietly one morning, in the presence of intimate friends, and quite in
the old-fashioned way, the two pairs of lovers walked up the church
aisle to the minister in waiting. The ladies wore rich traveling-suits,
and carriages waited to convey the immediate members of the family
to the wedding breakfast. The younger bridegroom saw nothing but the
sweet face at his side, though he started perceptibly when the service
revealed that his father's bride and his own bore the same musical name
of Eloise.

When the first carriage closed with a snap, there was a relaxing of
ceremony, and an interchange of congratulations, earnest, though
somewhat amusing. For when Hervey raised his eyes to the despised
mother's face, he saw there the soft features of Mrs. Raynor, while his
father smiled in contented expectancy. His own face was a study!

"Raynor?" he stammered. "Why I thought--I understood--"

"You said Raynor," was the teasing reply; "we never did."

"And whom have I married?" was his next question, with a grotesque
grimace at the demure young person beside him.

"Eloise Dana, an' it please your lordship. Do you mean to get a
divorce?"

"It's all right, my boy;" cheerily said his father, while all three
heartily enjoyed the denouement. "It was only a little harmless plot,
you know, to bring you to your senses! Besides, you were in too delicate
a state of health to bear the truth!" This with decided relish.