She hated her loneliness. She hated
her room. She hated her maid. She wanted to live in the Dyckman
palace and have a dozen maids and a pair of butlers to boss around,
and valets, and a crest on her paper, and invitations pouring in
from people whose pictures were in "the social world." She wanted
to snub somebody and show certain folks what was what.
The next morning she was sure of only one thing, and that was that
Dyckman had asked her to be his wife; and be his wife she would,
no matter what it cost.
She wondered how she could get rid of Gilfoyle, whom she looked upon
now as nothing less than an abductor. He was one of those "cadets"
the papers had been full of a few years before, who lured young
girls to ruin under the guise of false marriages and then sold them
as "white slaves."
Kedzle's wrath was at the fact that Gilfoyle was not legally an
abductor. She would have been glad merely to be ruined, and she
would have rejoiced at the possibility of a false marriage. In the
movies the second villain only pretended to be a preacher, and then
confessed his guilt. But such an easy solution was not for Kedzie.
New York City had licensed Gilfoyle's outrage; the clerk had sold
her to him for two dollars; the Municipal Building was the too, too
solid witness.
She felt a spiritual solace in the fact that she had not had a
religious marriage. The sacrament was only municipal and did not
count. Her wedding had lacked the blessing of the duly constituted
ministry; therefore it was sacrilegious; therefore it was her
conscientious duty to undo the pagan knot as quickly as possible.
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