mother and sisters came to her wedding, but the men of the family were
working on this week-day afternoon. The bride looked excited and happy,
colour burned scarlet in her cheeks, under her outrageous hat; she wore
a brown travelling gown, and the lemon-coloured gloves that were popular
in that day. Emeline felt that she was leaving everything unpleasant in
life behind her. George was the husband of her dreams--or perhaps her
dreams had temporarily adapted themselves to George.

But, indeed, he was an exceptionally good fellow. He was handsome, big,
dashingly dressed. He was steady and successful in his work, domestic in
his tastes, and tenderly--and perhaps to-day a little pityingly--devoted
to this pretty, clever girl who loved him so, and had such faith in him.
His life had kept him a good deal among men, and rather coarse men; he
had had to do more drinking than he cared to do, to play a good deal of
poker, to listen to a good deal of loose talk. Now, George felt a great
relief that this was over; he wanted a home, a wife, children.

The bride and groom had a cloudless three weeks of honeymoon among a
score of little Southern towns--and were scarcely less happy during the
first months of settling down. Emeline was entirely ignorant of what was
suitable or desirable in a home, and George had only the crude ideals of
a travelling man to guide him. They enthusiastically selected a flat of
four handsome, large, dark rooms, over a corner saloon, on O'Farrell
Street. The building was new, the neighbourhood well built, and filled
with stirring, interesting life. George said it was conveniently near
the restaurant and theatre district, and to Emeline, after Mission
Street, it seemed the very hub of the world. The suite consisted of a
large front drawing-room, connected by enormous folding doors with a
rear drawing-room, which the Pages would use as a bedroom, a large
dining-room, and a dark kitchen, equipped with range and "water back."