But for the present, at least, Stafford gave no indication of
regretting anything. On the contrary, he and his young wife had come
back from Europe in the highest of spirits, and immediately after
their return to New York the millionaire proceeded to convince his
critics of their error by throwing open his new house and entertaining
on a lavish scale. For some time before his marriage Stafford had
realized that his old apartment, comfortable as it was for the
bachelor, would be quite inadequate for a married couple; so, getting
rid of his lease, he had bought further down the Avenue near
Seventy-second street a fine American basement house. It was a large
modern residence, exquisitely furnished and supplied with every luxury
money could buy. Virginia's private suite was particularly beautiful,
being decorated in white and gold, in imitation of Queen Marie
Antoinette's apartments at the Little Trianon.
To Virginia this new life of luxury and pleasure was like a chapter
from the "Arabian Nights." It seemed unreal, like some fantastic dream
from which, sooner or later, there must be an abrupt awakening. For
years she had been so accustomed to the gnawing anxieties of poverty
that this sudden superfluity of wealth fairly stunned and overwhelmed
her. Stafford, apparently more infatuated every day, took the keenest
delight in pleasing her. Everything that he thought would add to her
happiness was done. He showered her with costly presents, giving her
wonderful diamond tiaras, superb pearl necklaces and other gems until
her jewels were soon the talk of New York.
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