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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Floyd Grandon's Honor, by Amanda Minnie
+Douglas
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Floyd Grandon's Honor
+
+
+Author: Amanda Minnie Douglas
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 20, 2008  [eBook #24376]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOYD GRANDON'S HONOR***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+The Douglas Novels
+
+Popular Edition
+
+By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS Cloth New uniform binding
+Per volume $1.00
+
+BETHIA WRAY'S NEW NAME
+THE HEIR OF BRADLEY HOUSE
+OSBORNE OF ARROCHAR
+CLAUDIA
+FROM HAND TO MOUTH
+HOME NOOK
+HOPE MILLS
+IN TRUST
+WHOM KATHIE MARRIED
+THE FORTUNES OF THE FARADAYS
+LOST IN A GREAT CITY
+NELLY KINNARD'S KINGDOM
+OUT OF THE WRECK
+STEPHEN DANE
+SYDNIE ADRIANCE
+IN WILD ROSE TIME
+IN THE KING'S COUNTRY
+A WOMAN'S INHERITANCE
+FLOYD GRANDON'S HONOR
+THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE
+FOES OF HER HOUSEHOLD
+A MODERN ADAM AND EVE IN A GARDEN
+SEVEN DAUGHTERS
+
+LEE AND SHEPARD Publishers
+BOSTON
+
+                     *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+FLOYD GRANDON'S HONOR
+
+by
+
+AMANDA M. DOUGLAS
+
+Author of
+"In Trust," "The Old Woman who lived in a Shoe," Etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Boston
+Lee and Shepard Publishers
+1899
+
+Copyright,
+1883,
+By Lee and Shepard.
+All rights reserved.
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+DR. AND MRS. THEO. R. LUFF.
+
+Through silent spaces hands may be outstretched,
+  Remembrance blossom in dim atmospheres;
+Friends are not less the friends though far apart;
+  They count the loss and gain of vanished years.
+
+
+
+
+FLOYD GRANDON'S HONOR.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+"There is a courtesy of the heart. Is it akin to love?"--GOETHE..
+
+
+It is the perfection of summer, early June, before the roses have
+shaken off their sweetness, and Grandon Park is lovely enough to
+compare with places whose beauty is an accretion of centuries rather
+than the work of decades. Yet these grand old trees and this bluff,
+with a strata of rock manifest here and there, are much older than the
+pretty settlement lying at its base. The quaint house of rough, gray
+stone, with a tower and a high balcony hung out at irregular intervals,
+the windows and angles and the curious pointed roof, stamp it as
+something different from the Swiss villas and cottage _ornees_ at its
+feet.
+
+Not very near, though; there is a spacious lawn and a wide drive, a
+grove of trees that can shut out intrusive neighbors to the south, as
+well as another dense thicket northward. There is the road at a
+distance on one side, and the broad, beautiful river on the other. Down
+below, a mile, perhaps, a rocky point juts out into the river, up above
+another, so this forms a kind of indentation, an exclusive sort of bay
+for the dwellers therein, and the whole rather aristocratic settlement
+is put down on the railway map as Grandon Park.
+
+But it is at the stone house on its very brow where the master, Floyd
+Grandon, is expected home to-day after years of wandering and many
+changes. In the library his mother and sisters are gathered. It is a
+favorite place with Gertrude, who spends her days on the sofa reading.
+Marcia much affects her own "study," up under the eaves, but to-day she
+is clothed and in her right mind, free from dabs of paint or fingers
+grimed with charcoal and crayons. Laura is always Laura, a stylish
+young girl, busy with the strip of an extremely elegant carriage robe,
+and Mrs. Grandon, a handsome woman past fifty, has a bit of embroidery
+in her hands. She seems never exactly idle, but now she holds her work
+and listens, then drops into musing.
+
+"I wonder what _can_ be the matter?" she exclaims presently. "It is
+full half an hour behind time," looking at her watch.
+
+"Are you in a hurry?" asks a languid voice from the luxurious Turkish
+lounge.
+
+"Gertrude! How heartless you are! When we have not seen Floyd for seven
+years!" in a tone of reproach.
+
+"If he were only coming alone----"
+
+"And if we _did_ know whether he is married or not!"
+
+This young, impatient voice is Laura's. Not that it will make any great
+difference to her.
+
+"We cannot dispossess Floyd," says Marcia, in a queer, caustic tone.
+"And a new mistress----"
+
+Marcia has a great gift for making people uncomfortable.
+
+"You seem so certain that he has married her," the mother comments in a
+kind of incredulous impatience.
+
+"Well, he was in love with her before. And now their travelling
+together, his bringing her here, look wonderfully like it."
+
+"Well, what then? She is rich, handsome, an elegant society woman, and
+just your age, Gertrude."
+
+That rather stings the pale, listless woman on the lounge, who knows
+her mother's ambition has been sorely crossed by these single
+daughters.
+
+"Not quite, mother mine. Even six months is something. She will not be
+able to twit me with seniority."
+
+"But she may with the fact that she has been twice married," says
+Marcia.
+
+"I am glad I shall be out of the way of all complications," announces
+Laura, in a joyous tone. "But for mourning and the miserable lack of
+money I should have been married sooner."
+
+"Laura! At least you owe some respect to your father's memory!" the
+mother retorts sharply.
+
+"Nevertheless, I am glad not to be dependent upon Floyd. And, mamma,
+you surely ought to rejoice at the prospect of having _one_ daughter
+well married," with a little exultant ring in her voice. She is only
+eighteen, and has captured both wealth and position, and is longing so
+ardently to try her new world. These Grandon girls are not particularly
+amiable with one another. Indeed, life seems to have gone wrong with
+all of them, and they feel that Floyd alone is to be envied, thanks to
+great Aunt Marcia.
+
+"There!" the mother exclaims suddenly, then rising, hurries out on the
+balcony. A carriage has turned into the drive, it sweeps around the
+gravelled walk with a crunching sound, and the beautiful bays are drawn
+up at the very edge of the wide stone steps with a masterly hand.
+
+"Here we are!" cries a young man of one or two and twenty. "There was a
+slight accident to the down train and a detention. And I absolutely did
+not know Floyd!"
+
+A tall, finely formed man of thirty or so springs out with an elastic
+step and clasps Mrs. Grandon in his arms. "My dear, dear mother!" is
+all that is said for a moment, and their lips meet with a tenderness
+that comforts the mother's heart.
+
+Then he looks a little uncertainly at the two behind her.
+
+"This is Laura, the child when you went away. It is almost nine years
+since you have seen her. And Marcia."
+
+"How odd to be introduced to your own brother!" laughs Laura. "But,
+Floyd, you look like a Turkish pasha or an Arabian emir." And she eyes
+him with undisguised admiration.
+
+Gertrude now crawls slowly out in a long white cashmere robe, with a
+pale blue fleecy wrap about her shoulders. She looks tall and ghostly,
+and her brother's heart fills with pity, as he seems more closely drawn
+to her than to the others.
+
+Then there is a curious little halt, and with one accord they glance
+toward the carriage. Floyd flushes under all his wealth of bronze.
+
+"Oh," he says, suddenly, "I have brought you an old friend. I could not
+bear to leave her in a great city among strangers, and promised her a
+welcome with you. Indeed, I do not believe she has any 'nearer of kin,'
+after all."
+
+They all take a step forward, still in wonder. Floyd hands her out,--a
+very elegant woman, who is one handsome and harmonious line, from the
+French hat down to the faultless kid boot.
+
+"I told Mr. Grandon it would be awkward and out of order," she says in
+a slow, melodious voice that has a peculiar lingering cadence. "But he
+is most imperious," and her smile dazzles them. "And you must pardon me
+for allowing myself to be persuaded. It was so tempting to come among
+friends."
+
+Clearly she is not his wife now, whatever she may be in the future.
+Mrs. Grandon draws a breath of relief, and there is a pleasant
+confusion of welcome.
+
+"Yes, I told her such scruples were foolish," says Floyd, in a
+straightforward way that is almost abrupt. Then turning to the
+carriage, adds, "And here is my little English daughter, Cecil!"
+
+"O Floyd! what a lovely child! Does she really belong to you?" And
+Laura glances from one to the other, then dashes forward and clasps
+Cecil, who shrinks away and clings to her father.
+
+"She is rather shy," he says, half proudly, half in apology; but Laura,
+who does not care a fig for children in general, kisses Cecil in spite
+of resistance. "Mother, I have added to your dignity by bringing home a
+granddaughter." Then, with a tender inflection, "This is grandmamma,
+Cecil."
+
+Cecil allows herself to be kissed this time without resistance but she
+clings tightly to her father.
+
+"What magnificent eyes! true twilight tint, and such hair! Floyd, how
+odd to think of you as----"
+
+"You are warm and tired," Mrs. Grandon is saying. "Your rooms are ready
+up-stairs."
+
+"Don't send away the carriage, Eugene," cries Laura, "I want it a
+little while." Then she follows the small throng up the broad steps and
+into the spacious hall, while the visitor is keeping up a delicate
+little conversation with her hostess. Gertrude looks old and faded
+beside this regal woman. Perhaps she feels it, for she goes back to her
+couch and her novel.
+
+"Oh," exclaims Eugene, springing up the steps two at a time, "here is
+Madame Lepelletier's satchel! You left it in the carriage," handing it
+to her.
+
+They are all relieved to actually hear her name. Laura leads her to the
+state chamber, which has been put in elegant order for a possible
+bride. Then her trunk is sent up, and Laura flits about as only a woman
+can, uttering gracious little sentences, until, finally excusing
+herself, she runs down to the carriage and is whirled away upon her
+errand.
+
+Mrs. Grandon has followed her son to his room. He is master of the
+house and yet he has never been possessor. Almost ten years ago it was
+being finished and furnished for the splendid woman in the opposite
+room, and by a strange travesty of fate he has brought her here to-day.
+But he has no time for retrospection. He hardly hears what his mother
+is saying as he stands his little girl on a chair by the window and
+glances out.
+
+"Yes," he returns, rather absently. "It will be all right. How
+wonderfully lovely this spot is, mother! I had no real conception of
+it. What would Aunt Marcia say to see it now? It is worthy of being
+handed down to the third and fourth generation."
+
+"What a pity your child is not a boy, Floyd; you would have nothing
+more to ask," his mother says, fervently wishing it had been so.
+
+"I would not have Cecil changed," he responds, with almost jealous
+quickness. "Where is Jane?" and the young girl lingering in the hall
+presents herself. "We shall just shake off a little of the dust of
+travel and come down, for I am all curiosity to inspect the place."
+
+"Will this room do for your little girl and her nurse?" asks Mrs.
+Grandon. "We hardly knew what arrangements to make----"
+
+"Yes, it is all very nice. Our luggage will be up presently; there was
+too much for us," and he smiles. "What are your household
+arrangements?"
+
+"Dinner is at six generally. I delayed it awhile to-night, and now I
+must go and look after it."
+
+"Thank you for all the trouble." He clasps both of his mother's hands
+in his and kisses her again. He has dreaded his return somewhat, and
+now he is delighted to be here.
+
+Down-stairs Gertrude and Marcia have had a small skirmish of words.
+
+"So he isn't married," the former had said, triumphantly.
+
+"But engaged, no doubt. He wouldn't bring her here if there was not
+something in it."
+
+"I would never forgive her for throwing me over," declares Gertrude.
+
+"But it is something to have been a countess, and she is wonderfully
+handsome, not a bit fagged out by a sea voyage. Why, she doesn't look
+much older than Laura. Women of that kind always carry all before them,
+and men forgive everything to them."
+
+"Floyd doesn't look like a marrying man."
+
+"Much you know about it!" says Marcia, contemptuously. Then hearing her
+mother's steps, she rejoins her in the long dining-room, where the meal
+is being prepared in a style that befits the handsome mansion. The
+table is elegant with plate, cut glass, and china. Mrs. Grandon is
+lighter of heart now that she knows she is not to be deposed
+immediately. If the child only were a boy there would be no need of
+Floyd marrying, and it vexes her.
+
+Laura returns in high good-humor, having done her errand quite to her
+satisfaction. The bell rings and they gather slowly. Madame Lepelletier
+is more enchanting still in some soft black fabric, with dull gold in
+relief. Floyd has washed and brushed and freshened, but still wears his
+travelling suit for a very good reason. Cecil is in white, with pale
+blue ribbons, which give her a sort of seraphic look. Yet she is tired
+with all the jaunting about, and after a while Laura ceases to torment
+her with questions, as the conversation becomes more general.
+
+While the dessert is being brought in, Cecil touches her father's arm
+gently.
+
+"I am so sleepy," in the lowest of low tones. Indeed, she can hardly
+keep her lovely eyes open.
+
+"Will you call Miss Cecil's maid?" he says to the waiter, and, kissing
+her, gives her into Jane's arms.
+
+"How beautifully that child behaves!" says Gertrude, with sudden
+animation. "I am not fond of children, but I am quite sure I shall like
+her."
+
+"I hope you will," her brother answers, with a smile.
+
+"Mr. Grandon deserves much credit," rejoins Madame Lepelletier.
+"Fathers are so apt to indulge, and Cecil is extremely bewitching.
+Could you really say 'no' to her?" And the lady smiles over to him.
+
+"If it was for her good. But Cecil's aunt must have the credit of her
+training." Then he goes back to a former subject, and they sit over
+their dessert until dusk, when they adjourn to the drawing-room
+opposite, where the lamps are lighted. Gertrude, as usual, takes a
+couch. Floyd and his mother pair off, and somehow Laura finds herself
+growing extremely confidential with their elegant guest, who soon helps
+her to confess that she is on the eve of marriage.
+
+"Of course we had to wait for Floyd to come home," she goes on. "The
+property has to be settled, and mamma insists that now Floyd is head of
+the family and all that. But I was engaged before papa died, and we
+were to have been married in the spring," at which she sighs. "And I do
+so want to get to Newport before the season is over. But Floyd is
+something to papa's will--executor, isn't it?--and we cannot have any
+money until he takes it in hand."
+
+"How long he has been away!" says Madame Lepelletier, with a soft
+half-sigh. She would like to believe that she had something to do with
+it, but the English wife stands rather in the way.
+
+"Yes; he was coming home as soon as his little girl was born, but then
+his wife died and he joined an exploring expedition, and has been
+rambling about the world ever since, with no bother of anything. How
+nice it must be to have plenty of money!" And Laura's sigh is in good
+earnest.
+
+"You are right there," adds Eugene, who is smoking out on the balcony.
+"Floyd, old chap, is to be envied. I wish I had been Aunt Marcia's pet,
+or even half favorite. Business is my utter detestation, I admit. I
+must persuade Floyd to change about."
+
+"And that makes me think of the wonderful changes here. Why, Grandon
+Park is a perfect marvel of beauty, and I left it an almost wilderness.
+I should never have known the place. But the location is really
+magnificent. Ten years have improved it beyond all belief. I suppose
+there is some very nice society?"
+
+"In the summer, yes, and yet every one is anxious to get away," returns
+Laura, with a short laugh.
+
+Marcia joins the circle and the harmony seems broken. Madame
+Lepelletier wonders why they so jar upon each other. She has been
+trained to society's suavity, and they seem quite like young
+barbarians.
+
+Floyd and his mother talk a little at the lower end of the room, then
+she proposes they shall take the library.
+
+"Or better still," says he, "get a shawl and let us have a turn
+outside. The moon is just coming up."
+
+She obeys with alacrity. They cross the sloping lawn almost down to the
+river's edge. Floyd lights a cigar, after learning that it will not be
+disagreeable. He glances up and down the river, flecked here and there
+with a drowsy sail or broken with the plash of oars. Over on the
+opposite shore the rugged rocks rise frowningly, then break in
+depressions, through which clumps of cedars shine black and shadowy.
+Why, he has not seen much in Europe that can excel this! His heart
+swells with a sense of possession. For the first time in his life his
+very soul thrills with a far-reaching, divine sense of home.
+
+"I am so glad to have you at last, Floyd," his mother says again,
+remembering her own perplexities. "Nothing could be done about the
+business until you came. Floyd," suddenly, "I hope you will not feel
+hurt at--at what your father thought best to do. Aunt Marcia provided
+for you."
+
+"Yes, nobly, generously. If you mean that my father divided the rest
+among you all, he only did what was right, just."
+
+There is no uncertain ring in the tone, and she is greatly relieved.
+
+"Poor father! I had counted on being a stay to him in his declining
+years, as I should have returned in any event in another year or two. I
+should like to have seen him once more."
+
+"He left many messages for you, and there is a packet of instructions
+that I suppose explains his wishes. You see he did not really think of
+dying; we all considered him improving until that fatal hemorrhage. The
+business is left to Eugene. Then there are legacies and incomes,"--with
+a rather hopeless sigh.
+
+"Don't feel troubled about it, mother dear. I suppose Eugene likes the
+business?" in a cheery tone.
+
+"No, I am afraid not very well. He is young, you know, and has had no
+real responsibility. O Floyd, I hope you will be patient with him!"
+
+"To be sure I will." Patience seems a very easy virtue just now. "There
+is the partner?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Wilmarth. And a Mr. St. Vincent has an interest, and there is
+a good deal about machinery that I do not understand----"
+
+"Never mind. Let us talk about the girls. Gertrude looks but poorly.
+She has never rallied over her unfortunate love."
+
+"I think she always expected to hear something, and would make no
+effort. She is not really ill. It is only allowing one's self to
+collapse. She ought to have done better, for she was really beautiful.
+I thought her prettier than Irene Stanwood in those old days, but no
+one would fancy _her_ the older now."
+
+Mrs. Grandon feels her way very cautiously. She is not at all sure what
+her son's relations with this handsome guest are, or may be, and she
+desires to keep on the safe side.
+
+"Isn't she marvellous?" He stops suddenly in his slow pacing. "When I
+stumbled over her in Paris she seemed to me like some of the strange
+old stories of woman blessed with unfading youth. And yet I do not
+believe she had a really satisfying life with her count and his family.
+It must have been something else, some rare, secret philosophy. Yet she
+seemed so sort of friendless in one way, and was coming to America for
+the settlement of the business, so I thought we might as well have her
+here for a little while. I wonder if it will annoy you?" he asks
+quickly.
+
+"Oh, no!" she answers in a careless tone. "You are the only one who
+would be annoyed."
+
+"My epidermis has thickened since those days," he returns, with a
+laugh. "What an unlucky lot we were! Gertrude, Marcia, and I, all
+crossed in our first loves! I hope Laura's fate will be better."
+
+"Laura's prospects are very bright," says the mother, in a kind of
+exultant tone. "She is engaged to a young man every way
+unexceptionable, and was to have been married in the spring. She is
+very anxious now--you see no one can have any money until----"
+
+"I can soon straighten such a bother. When would she like----"
+
+"Mr. Delancy is very impatient now. It would be mortifying to confess
+that only a matter of wedding clothes stands between, when everything
+else is desirable."
+
+"Consider that settled then."
+
+"O Floyd! Laura will be so delighted!" There is relief in her tone, as
+well. A great anxiety has been dispelled.
+
+The bell in the village up above peals off ten, and the still air
+brings it down with a touch of soft mystery.
+
+"We ought to go back to the house," confesses the mother. "And I dare
+say you are tired, Floyd?"
+
+"I have had a rather fatiguing day," he admits, though he feels as if
+he could fling himself down on the fragrant grass and stay there all
+night. It would not be the first time he has slept under a canopy of
+stars.
+
+They retrace their steps, and Mrs. Grandon apologizes to her guest, who
+is sweetness itself, quite different from the Irene Stanwood of the
+past. There is a stir, and everybody admits that it is time to retire.
+
+Floyd intercepts Laura in the hall, and wonders he has not remarked the
+flash of the diamond earlier, as she raises her plump hand.
+
+"Mother has been telling me," he says, with a wise, curious smile. "Let
+me congratulate you. To-morrow we will talk it over and arrange
+everything. I will be your banker for the present. Only--are you quite
+sure I shall like the young man?" And he holds her in a tender clasp.
+
+"You cannot help it! O Floyd, how good you are, and how very, very
+happy it makes me! I began to feel afraid that I had come under the
+family ban."
+
+"Dismiss all fears." He thinks her a very pretty young girl as she
+stands there, and he is pleased that his return is bringing forth good
+fruit so soon.
+
+There is a pleasant confusion of good nights and good wishes, the great
+hall doors are shut, and they all troop up the wide walnut staircase
+quite as if an evening party had broken up. Floyd Grandon, though not a
+demonstrative man, lingers to give his mother a parting kiss, and is
+glad that he has returned to comfort her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+When a woman has ceased to be quite the same to us, it matters not how
+different she becomes.--W. S. LANDOR.
+
+
+The house is still. Every one is shut in with his or her thoughts.
+Floyd Grandon goes to the bed of his little girl, where Jane sits
+watching in an uncertain state, since everything is so new and strange.
+
+How lovely the child is! The rosy lips are parted, showing the pearly
+teeth, the face is a little flushed with warmth, one pale, pink-tinted
+ear is like a bit of sculpture, the dimpled shoulder, the one dainty
+bare foot outside the spread, seem parts of a cherub. He presses it
+softly; he kisses the sweet lips that smile. Is it really the sense of
+ownership that makes her so dear?
+
+He has never experienced this jealous, overwhelming tenderness for
+anything human. He loves his mother with all a son's respect, and has a
+peculiar sympathy for her. If his father were alive he knows they would
+be good comrades to stand by each other, to have a certain positive
+faith and honor in each other's integrity. His brother and
+sisters--well, he has never known them intimately, even as one gets to
+know friends, but he will take them upon trust. Then there are two
+women,--the mother of his child, and that affluent, elegant being
+across the hall. Does his heart warm to her? And yet she might have
+been mistress here and the mother of his children. The "might have
+been" in his thought would comfort his mother greatly, who is
+wondering, as she moves restlessly on her pillow, if it may not yet be.
+
+Floyd Grandon's story comprehends all the rest, so I will give that.
+
+Some sixty years before this, two sturdy Englishmen and their sister
+had come to the New World, with a good deal of energy and some money.
+The freak that led them up the river to this place was their love of
+beautiful scenery. Land was cheap, and at first they tried farming, but
+presently they started a carpet factory, their old business, and being
+ingenious men, they made some improvements. Ralph Stanwood, another
+Englishman, joined them. They placed their business two miles farther
+up, where there were facilities for docks and the privileges they
+desired.
+
+William Grandon married, but only one of his children reached maturity.
+James and his sister Marcia lived in an old farm-house, single,
+prudent, turning everything into money, and putting it into land. When
+James died he left his business to his brother and his share of the
+farm to Marcia. When William died the business went to his son James,
+except the small share belonging to Stanwood.
+
+James married a stylish young woman who never quite suited Aunt Marcia.
+They lived in the new village in a pretentious house, and came out now
+and then to the farm. There were five children, and the second girl was
+named after the great-aunt, who dowered her with a hundred dollars, to
+be put in the bank, and a handsome christening robe, then took no
+further special notice of her.
+
+But she liked Floyd, the eldest son, and he was never weary of roaming
+about the old place and listening through the long evenings to matters
+she had known of in England, and places she had seen.
+
+"Aunt Marcia," he said one day, "just up on that ridge would be a
+splendid place to build a castle. All the stone could be quarried out
+around here. I wish you'd let me build it when I am a man."
+
+She laughed a little, and took a good survey of the place.
+
+Some days after she questioned her nephew about his plans.
+
+"Bring Eugene up to the business," she said, briefly. "Four will be
+enough for your purse. I will look after Floyd."
+
+Miss Grandon might be queer and unsocial, but she was no niggard. All
+the friends of her own day were gone, and she had no gift for making
+new ones, but her grand-nephew grew into her heart.
+
+His mother watched this with a curious jealousy.
+
+"If she had only taken one of the girls! Marcia ought to belong there."
+
+"Nonsense!" replied her husband. "It would be a dull home for a girl.
+Let her have Floyd. The lad is fond of her, and she loves him. I never
+knew her to love one of her own sex."
+
+Floyd was sent to college, but the idea of the castle grew in Aunt
+Marcia's brain. Towns and villages were spreading up the river, and one
+day she was offered what seemed a fabulous sum for her old home of
+rocky woodlands. She was still shrewd, if she had come to fourscore,
+and offered them half, on her own terms, holding off with the most
+provoking indifference until they came to an agreement. Then she
+announced her intention of building a home for Floyd, who was to be her
+heir.
+
+"The property ought to be yours, James," Mrs. Grandon said, with some
+bitterness. "Why should she set Floyd above all the rest?"
+
+"My dear,--as if it really made any difference!"
+
+But the mother did look on with a rather jealous eye. Floyd came home,
+and they discussed plans, viewed every foot of soil, selected the
+finest spot, had the different kinds of rock examined, and finally
+discovered the right place for a quarry. There was so much preliminary
+work that they did not really commence until the ensuing spring, and
+the foundation only had been laid when Floyd's vacation came around
+again. Meanwhile, houses below them seemed to spring up as if by magic.
+The mystery and fame of the "castle" helped. No one knew quite what it
+was going to be, and the strange old lady intensified the whole.
+
+There was no special haste about it, though Floyd was so interested
+that he had half a mind to throw up his last year at college, but Aunt
+Marcia would not agree, and he graduated with honors. Meanwhile the
+house progressed, and if it did not quite reach the majesty of a
+castle, it was a very fine, substantial building. Floyd threw himself
+into the project now with all his energy. They would be quite detached
+from their neighbors by the little grove Aunt Marcia had left standing.
+There were walks and drives to build, lawns to lay out, new gardens to
+plan, but before it was all completed Aunt Marcia, who had been a
+little ailing for several weeks, dropped suddenly out of life, fondly
+loved and deeply regretted by her grand-nephew.
+
+Her will showed that she had planned not to have her name perish with
+her. The house and several acres of ground were to constitute the
+Grandon estate proper. This was to be used by Floyd during his life and
+then to descend to his eldest son living. If he left no sons, and
+Eugene should have a male descendant, he was to be the heir. If neither
+had sons, it was to go in the female line, provided such heir took the
+name of Grandon. The rest of the property was left unconditionally to
+Floyd, with the exception of one thousand dollars apiece to the
+children.
+
+Floyd was at this period two-and-twenty, a rather grave and reserved
+young man, with no special predilection for society. And yet, to the
+great surprise of his mother, Irene Stanwood captured him and rather
+cruelly flaunted her victory in the faces of all the Grandons. Yet
+there really could be no objection. She was a handsome, well-educated
+girl, with some fortune of her own and a considerable to come from her
+mother.
+
+Mrs. Stanwood and her daughter went abroad, where Floyd was to meet
+them presently, when whatever they needed for foreign adornment of
+their house would be selected. They heard of Miss Stanwood being a
+great success at Paris, her beauty and breeding gaining her much favor.
+And then, barely six months later, an elegant Parisian count presented
+a temptation too great to be resisted. Miss Stanwood threw over Floyd
+Grandon and became Madame la Comtesse.
+
+Essentially honest and true himself, this was a great shock to Floyd
+Grandon, but he learned afterward that principle and trust had been
+more severely wounded than love. His regard had been a young man's
+preference rather than any actual need of loving. Indeed, he was rather
+shocked to think how soon he did get over the real pain, and how fast
+his views of life changed.
+
+Meanwhile Gertrude lived out a brief romance. A fascinating lover of
+good family and standing, a little gay and extravagant, perhaps, but
+the kind to win a girl's whole soul, and Gertrude gave him every
+thought. While the wedding day was being considered, a misdeed of such
+magnitude came to light that the young man was despatched to China with
+all possible haste to avoid a worse alternative, and Gertrude was left
+heart-broken. Then Marcia, young and giddy, half compromised herself
+with an utterly unworthy admirer, and Mrs. Grandon's cup of bitterness
+was full to overflowing.
+
+Floyd leased his quarry on advantageous terms, and offered to take his
+mother and two sisters abroad. This certainly was some compensation.
+Marcia soon forgot her griefs, and even Gertrude was roused to
+interest. At some German baths the ladies met Madame la Comtesse, and
+were indebted to her for an act of friendliness. At Paris they met her
+again, and here Floyd had occasion to ask himself with a little caustic
+satire if he had really loved her? She had grown handsomer, she was
+proud of her rank and station and the homage laid at her feet.
+
+The Grandons returned home and took possession of Floyd's house. He
+went on to Egypt, the Holy Land, and India. He was beginning to take
+the true measure of his manhood, his needs and aims, to meet and mingle
+with people who could stir what was best in him, and rouse him to the
+serious purposes of life, when another incident occurred that might
+have made sad havoc with his plans.
+
+While at an English army station he met a very charming widow, with a
+young step-daughter, who was shortly to return to England. Cecil
+Trafford admired him with a girl's unreason, and at last committed such
+an imprudence that the astute step-mother, seeing her opportunity,
+proposed the only reparation possible,--marriage. Cecil was a bright,
+pretty, wilful girl, and he liked her, yet he had a strong feeling of
+being outgeneralled.
+
+That she loved him he could not doubt, and they were married, as he
+intended to return to England. But her fondness was that of a child,
+and sometimes grew very wearisome. She was petulant, but not
+ill-tempered; the thing she cried for to-day she forgot to-morrow.
+
+She had one sister much older than herself, married to a clergyman and
+settled in Devonshire. Floyd sought them out, and found them a most
+charming household. Mr. Garth was a strongly intellectual man, and his
+house was a centre for the most entertaining discussions. Mrs. Garth
+had a decided gift for music, and was a well-balanced, cultivated
+woman. They lingered month after month, gravitating between London and
+the Garths', until Cecil's child was born. A few weeks later Cecil's
+imprudence cost her life. Floyd Grandon came down from London to find
+the eager, restless little thing still and calm as any sculptured
+marble. He was so glad then that he had been indulgent to her whims and
+caprices.
+
+He was quite at liberty now to join an expedition to Africa that he had
+heroically resisted before. Mrs. Garth kept the child. Announcing his
+new plans to his mother, he set off, and for the next four years
+devoted himself to the joys and hardships of a student traveller.
+
+He was deep in researches of the mysterious lore of Egypt when a letter
+that had gone sadly astray reached him, announcing his father's death
+and the necessity of his return home. Leaving a friend to complete one
+or two unfinished points, he reluctantly tore himself away, and yet
+with a pang that after all it was too late to be of any real service to
+his father, that he could never comfort his declining years as he had
+Aunt Marcia's.
+
+He had some business in Paris, and crossing the channel he met Madame
+Lepelletier. She was a widow and childless. The title and estate had
+gone to a younger son, though she had a fair provision. She had
+received the announcement of Mr. Grandon's death and the notice of
+settlement, and was on her way to America. A superbly handsome woman
+now, but Grandon had seen many another among charming society women. He
+was not in any sense a lady's man. His little taste of matrimony had
+left a bitter flavor in his mouth.
+
+She admitted to herself that he was very distinguished looking. The
+slender fairness of youth was all outgrown. Compact, firm, supple, with
+about the right proportion of flesh, bronzed, with hair and beard
+darker than of yore, and that decisive aspect a man comes to have who
+learns by experience to rely upon his own judgment.
+
+"I am on my way thither," he announced, in a crisp, business-like
+manner. "It is high time I returned home, though a man with no ties
+could spend his life amid the curiosities of the ancient civilizations.
+But my mother needs me, and I have a little girl in England."
+
+"Ah?" with a faint lifting of the brows that indicated curiosity.
+
+"I was married in India, but my wife died in England, where our child
+was born," he said briefly, not much given to mysteries. "An aunt has
+been keeping her. She must be about five," he adds more slowly.
+
+Madame Lepelletier wondered a little about the marriage. Had the grief
+at his wife's death plunged him into African wilds?
+
+They spent two or three days in London, and she decided to wait for the
+next steamer and go over with him, as he frankly admitted that he knew
+nothing about children, except as he had seen them run wild. So he
+despatched a letter home, recounting the chance meeting and announcing
+their return, little dreaming of the suspicions it might create.
+
+Floyd Grandon found a lovely fairy awaiting him in the old Devonshire
+rectory. Tall for her age, exquisitely trained, possessing something
+better than her mother's infantile prettiness. Eyes of so dark a gray
+that in some lights they were black, and hair of a soft ripe-wheat
+tint, fine and abundant. But the soul and spirit in her face drew him
+toward her more than the personal loveliness. She was extremely shy at
+first, though she had been taught to expect papa, but the strangeness
+wore off presently.
+
+They were very loth to give her up, and Mrs. Garth exacted a promise
+that in her girlhood she might have her again. But when they were
+fairly started on their journey Cecil was for a while inconsolable.
+Grandon was puzzled. She seemed such a strange, sudden gift that he
+knew not what to do. At Liverpool they met Madame Lepelletier, but all
+her tenderness was of no avail. Cecil did not cry now, but utterly
+refused to be comforted by this stranger.
+
+It was to her father that she turned at last. That night she crept into
+his arms of her own accord, and sobbed softly on his shoulder.
+
+"Can I never have Auntie Dora again?" she asked, pitifully.
+
+"My little darling, in a long, long while. But there will be new
+aunties and a grandmamma."
+
+"I don't want any one but just you." And she kissed him with a
+trembling eagerness that touched his heart. Suddenly a new and
+exquisite emotion thrilled him. This little morsel of humanity was all
+his. She had nothing in the world nearer, and there was no other soul
+to which he could lay entire claim.
+
+After that she was a curious study to him. Gentle, yet in some respects
+firm to obstinacy, with a dainty exclusiveness that was extremely
+flattering, and that somehow he came to like, to enjoy with a certain
+pride.
+
+As for Madame Lepelletier, she was rather amused at first to have her
+advances persistently repelled, her tempting bonbons refused, and
+though she was not extravagantly fond of children, she resolved to
+conquer this one's diffidence or prejudice, she could not quite decide
+which.
+
+One day, nearly at the close of their journey, she teased Cecil by her
+persistence until the child answered with some anger.
+
+"Cecil!" exclaimed Mr. Grandon, quickly.
+
+The pretty child hung her head.
+
+"Go and kiss Madame Lepelletier and say you are sorry. Do you know that
+was very rude?" said her father.
+
+"I don't want to be kissed. I told her so," persisted the child,
+resolutely.
+
+"It is such a trifle," interposed madame, with a charming smile. "And I
+am not sure but we ought to train little girls to be chary of their
+kisses. There! I will not see her teased." And the lady, rising, walked
+slowly away.
+
+"Cecil!" the tone was quietly grave now.
+
+The large eyes filled with tears, but she made no motion to relent.
+
+"Very well," he said. "I shall not kiss my little girl until she has
+acted like a lady."
+
+Cecil turned to Jane with a swelling heart. But an hour or two
+afterward the cunning little thing climbed her father's knee, patted
+his cheek with her soft fingers, parted the brown mustache, and pressed
+her sweet red lips to his with arch temptation.
+
+He drew back a trifle. "Do you remember what papa said, Cecil? Will you
+go and kiss madame?"
+
+The lip quivered. There was a long, swelling breath, and the lashes
+drooped over the slightly flushed cheeks.
+
+"Papa doesn't love me!" she uttered, like a plaint. "He wouldn't want
+to give away my kisses if he did."
+
+He took the little face in his hands, and said with a traitorous
+tenderness, "My little darling, I _do_ hate to lose any of your kisses.
+You see you are punishing me, too, by your refusal. I think you ought
+to do what is right and what papa bids you."
+
+"But I can't love to kiss her." And there was a great struggle in the
+little soul.
+
+"But you _can_ be sorry that you were rude."
+
+The entreaty in the eyes almost melted him, but he said no more. She
+slipped down very reluctantly, and went across to where madame was
+playing chess.
+
+"I am sorry I was rude," she said slowly. "I will kiss you now."
+
+"You are a darling!" But for all that Madame Lepelletier longed to
+shake her.
+
+Her father received her with open arms and rapturous caresses. She gave
+a little sob.
+
+"You won't ask me again!" she cried. "I don't want anybody but just
+you, now that Auntie Dora is away."
+
+"And I want you to love me best of all. Heaven knows, my darling, how
+dear you are!"
+
+He spoke the truth. In this brief while he had grown to love her
+devotedly.
+
+Madame Lepelletier was very sweet, but she did not consider it wise to
+rouse the child's opposition, since no one else could beguile favors
+from her.
+
+Before they reached New York she had allowed herself to be persuaded to
+go at once to Grandon Park, and Floyd telegraphed, a little
+ambiguously, used as he was to brief announcements. Madame Lepelletier
+had made a half-resolve, piqued by his friendly indifference, that he
+should own her charm. She would establish a footing in the family.
+
+And now, in the quiet of the guest-chamber, where everything is more
+luxurious than she has imagined, she resolves that she will win Floyd
+Grandon back. She will make the mother and sisters adore her. She has
+not been schooled in a French world for nothing, and yet it was not a
+very satisfactory world. She will have more real happiness here; and
+she sighs softly as she composes herself to sleep.
+
+Floyd Grandon kisses his darling for the last time, then shutting his
+door, sits down by the window and lights a cigar. He does not want to
+sleep. Never in his life has he felt so like a prince. He has this
+lovely house, and his child to watch and train, and, mayhap, some
+little fame to win. He makes no moan for the dead young mother in her
+grave, for he understands her too truly to desire her back, with all
+her weakness and frivolity. He cannot invest her with attributes that
+she never possessed, but he can remember her in the child, who shall be
+true and noble and high of soul. They two, always.
+
+Laura has fallen asleep over visions of bridal satin and lace that are
+sure now to come true, but Gertrude tosses restlessly and sighs for her
+lost youth. Twenty-nine seems fearfully old to-night, for the next will
+be thirty. She does not care for marriage now; but she has an impending
+dread of something,--it may be a contrast with that beautiful, blooming
+woman.
+
+"For I know she will _try_ to get Floyd," she says, with a bitter sigh.
+
+This fear haunts the mother's pillow as well. Many aims and hopes of
+her life have failed. She loves her younger son with a tender fervor,
+but she does not desire to have the elder wrested out of her hands, and
+become a guest in the home where she has reigned mistress.
+
+Truly they are not all beds of roses.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+"Let the world roll blindly on,
+Give me shadow, give me sun,
+  And a perfumed day as this is."
+
+
+It is hardly dawn as yet, and the song of countless robins wakes Floyd
+Grandon. How they fling their notes back at one another, with a merry
+audacity that makes him smile! Then a strange voice, a burst of higher
+melody, a warble nearer, farther, fainter, a "sweet jargoning" among
+them all, that lifts his soul in unconscious praise. At first there is
+a glimmer of mystery, then he remembers,--it is his boyhood's home.
+There were just such songs in Aunt Marcia's time, when he slept up
+under the eaves of the steeply peaked roof.
+
+The dawn flutters out, faint opal and gray, then rose and yellow, blue
+and a sort of silvery haze. It does not burst into sudden glory, but
+dallies in translucent seas, changing, fading, growing brighter, and
+lo, the world is burnished with a faint, tender gold. The air is sweet
+with dewy grasses, the spice of pines, rose, and honeysuckle, and the
+scent of clover-blooms, that hint of midsummer. There is the river,
+with its picturesque shores, and purple blue peaks opposite; down
+below, almost hidden by the grove, the cluster of homes, in every
+variety of beauty, that are considered the _par excellence_ of Grandon
+Park. Mrs. Grandon would fain destroy the grove, since she loves to be
+seen of her neighbors; but Floyd always forbade it, and his father
+would not consent, so it still stands, to his delight.
+
+"If this is the home feeling, so eloquently discoursed upon, it has not
+been overrated," he says softly to himself. "Home," with a lingering
+inflection.
+
+"Papa! papa!" The fleet bare feet reach him almost as soon as the
+ringing voice. "I was afraid you were not here. Is this truly home?"
+
+"Truly home, my darling."
+
+He lifts her in his arms, still in her dainty nightdress, and kisses
+the scarlet lips, that laugh now for very gladness.
+
+"Can I stay with you always?"
+
+"Why, yes," in half surprise. "You are the nearest and dearest thing in
+all the world." Yes, he is quite sure now that he would rather part
+with everything than this baby girl he has known only such a little
+while.
+
+Then he stands her on the floor. "Run to Jane and get dressed, and we
+will go out on the lawn and see the birds and flowers."
+
+While she is engaged, he gives a brush to his flowing beard and
+slightly waving hair that is of a rather light brown, and puts on a
+summer coat. A fine-looking man, certainly, with a rather long, oval
+face, clearly defined brows, and sharply cut nose and mouth; with a
+somewhat imperious expression that gives it character. The eyes are a
+deep, soft brown, with curious lights rippling through them like the
+tints of an agate. Generally they are tranquil to coldness, so far as
+mere emotion is concerned, but many things kindle them into interest,
+and occasionally to indignation. Health and a peculiar energy are in
+every limb, the energy that sets itself to conquer and is never lost in
+mere strife or bustle.
+
+"Papa!"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"You will wait for me?" entreatingly.
+
+He comes to the door with a smile. Jane is brushing the fair, shining
+hair that is like a sea of ripples, and Cecil stretches out her hand
+with pretty eagerness, as if she shall lose him, after all.
+
+"Suppose I tie it so, and curl it after breakfast," proposes Jane.
+"Miss Cecil is so impatient."
+
+"Yes, that will do." It is beautiful, any way, he thinks. Then she
+dances around on one foot until her dress is put on, when she gives a
+glad bound.
+
+"But your pinafore! American children _do_ wear them," says Jane, in a
+rather uncertain tone.
+
+"I am a little English girl," is the firm rejoinder.
+
+"Then of course you must," responds papa.
+
+"And your hat! The sun is shining."
+
+Cecil gives a glad spring then, and almost drags her father down the
+wide stairs. A young colored lad is brushing off the porch, but the two
+go down on the path that is speckless and as hard as a floor. The lawn
+slopes slowly toward the river, broken by a few clumps of shrubbery, a
+summer-house covered with vines, and another resembling a pagoda, with
+a great copper beech beside it. There are some winding paths, and it
+all ends with a stone wall, as the shore is very irregular. There is a
+boat-house, and a strip of gravelly beach, now that the tide is out.
+
+Grandon turns and looks toward the house. Yes, it _is_ handsome, grand.
+Youth and age together did not make any blunder of it. There is the
+tower, that was to be his study and library and place of resort
+generally. What crude dreams he had in those days! Science and poesy,
+art and history, were all a sad jumble in his brain, and now he has
+found his life-work. He hopes that he may make the world a little
+wiser, raise some few souls up to the heights he has found so
+delightful.
+
+Cecil dances about like a fairy. She is at home amid green fields once
+more, for the ocean was to her a dreary desert, and the many strange
+faces made her uncomfortable. She is oddly exclusive and delicate, even
+chary about herself, but alone with her father she is all childish
+abandon.
+
+There is a stir about the house presently, and Grandon begins to
+retrace his steps.
+
+"Don't go," entreats Cecil.
+
+"My dear, we must have breakfast. Grandmamma and the aunties will be
+waiting."
+
+"Are they going to live there always!" with an indication of the fair
+head.
+
+"Yes, some of them."
+
+"And are we going to live there for ever and ever?"
+
+He laughs gayly.
+
+"I hope we will live there to a good old age."
+
+"And madame--must she stay there, too?"
+
+"Madame will stay for a little while. And Cecil must be kind and
+pleasant----"
+
+"I can't like her!" interrupts the child, petulantly.
+
+He studies her with some curiosity. Why should the gracious, beautiful
+woman be distasteful to her?
+
+"I don't really suppose she will care much," he replies, in a rather
+teasing spirit.
+
+"But if she doesn't, why should she want me to kiss her?"
+
+"I do not believe she will ask you again. You must not be rude to any
+one. And you must kiss grandmamma or the aunties if they ask you."
+
+Cecil sets her lips firmly, but makes no reply. Grandon wonders
+suddenly what charm Aunt Dora possessed, and how people, fathers and
+mothers, govern children! It is a rather perplexing problem if they
+turn naughty.
+
+They walk back to the great porch, where Mrs. Grandon comes out and
+wishes her son a really fond good morning. Cecil submits quietly to a
+caress with most unchildlike gravity. Marcia comes flying along; she is
+always flying or rustling about, with streamers somewhere, and a very
+young-girlish air that looks like affectation at twenty-seven, but she
+will do the same at forty-seven. She is barely medium height, fair,
+with light hair, which by persistent application she makes almost
+golden. It is thin and short, and floats about her head in artistic
+confusion. Her eyes are a rather pale blue-gray, and near-sighted, her
+features small, her voice has still the untrained, childish sound of
+extreme youth. She is effusive and full of enthusiasms, rather
+unbalanced, Floyd decides in a day or two.
+
+"Good morning!" exclaims the bright voice of Eugene. "Upon my word, you
+make quite an imposing _paterfamilias_, and Cecil, I dare say, has
+found the weak place and tyrannizes over you. Come to me, little lady,"
+pinching her lovely pink cheek.
+
+But Cecil almost hides behind her father, and is proof against the
+blandishments of the handsome young man. He is not quite so tall as
+Floyd, but grace, from the splendidly shaped head to the foot worthy of
+a woman's second glance. A clear, rich complexion, very dark hair and
+eyes, and a mustache that looks as if it was pencilled in jet. Laura
+has these darker tints as well. Certainly Mrs. Grandon has no cause to
+be dissatisfied with her two youngest on the score of good looks.
+
+Floyd lifts Cecil in his arms and admits that she does not make friends
+easily. Then with a change in his tone, "How finely the place has been
+kept up! Shall I thank you or mother for it, Eugene? Aunt Marcia's old
+farm has arrived at great state and dignity. I have seen few places
+abroad that I like better, though much, of course, on a far grander
+scale."
+
+"Aunt Marcia 'builded better than she knew.' Grandon Park is the seat
+of fashion and taste; isn't that right, Marcia? And Floyd, old fellow,
+_you_ are to be envied. I wish _I_ had been eldest born."
+
+Floyd smiles, yet something in the tone jars a trifle. Then the
+breakfast-bell rings and they move through the hall just as Madame
+Lepelletier sweeps down the stairs like a princess in cream cashmere
+and lace. Her radiance is not impaired by daylight. Marcia seems to
+shrivel up beside her, and Gertrude looks extremely faded, washed out.
+
+They are all bright and gay. Madame Lepelletier is one of the women who
+seldom tolerates dulness or that embarrassing awkwardness that
+occasionally settles even in well-bred circles. She is charming and
+vivacious, she has resolved that they shall all like her, and though
+she is not a particularly generous person, she has discerned how she
+may be of use to them and win herself gratitude and friendship. She is
+too politic ever to make an enemy, and she keeps her friends so well in
+hand that their possible defection shall not injure her, but rather
+themselves. Young, handsome, fascinating, and with abundant means for
+herself, she has been in no hurry to change her state in life. But
+Grandon Park and its owner look as tempting this morning as they did in
+her twilight revery last evening.
+
+"What will you do, Floyd?" asks Eugene, presently. "Come up to the
+factory, or----"
+
+"Oh," returns Laura, with a kind of merry audacity, blushing a little,
+"we shall keep him home this morning."
+
+"Well, I must be off. Business, you see. But I shall hold myself free
+for this afternoon if any of you ladies will honor me," bowing to
+Madame Lepelletier, who acknowledges it with a ravishing smile that
+makes every pulse thrill.
+
+Floyd and his mother have the first confidence. There are the sad
+particulars of the death, now more than six months old. The will has
+been read, but there is a sealed packet of instruction for Floyd, still
+in the lawyer's hands. The business seems to be in a rather involved
+state, what with partners and a patent that Mr. Grandon felt sure would
+make all their fortunes. The main point relating to Laura is this:
+While the mother has a yearly income from the business, the girls are
+to be paid five thousand dollars down, and five thousand more at the
+expiration of three years. Laura needs hers for present emergencies.
+But just now there are notes coming due and no money.
+
+"I can easily arrange that," says Floyd, "by advancing Laura's money.
+How odd this should be the first marriage in the family, and Laura the
+youngest!"
+
+"You forget your own," remarks his mother, in surprise.
+
+"Why, so I did." And a flush is visible under the bronze. "It is so
+like a dream to me, over in one short year."
+
+"And you were very much in love, doubtless? It must have been
+terrible!"
+
+"It was a most unexpected death," ignoring the first remark. "She was
+so young, a mere child."
+
+Not even to his mother can he express his manhood's views of the whole
+occurrence. But he knows that he did not love her deeply, and the
+consciousness will always give him a little shock. At the same time he
+settles that he is not the kind of man to be swept off his feet by the
+passion of love.
+
+Then they call Laura in and Floyd explains the ease with which the
+matter can be settled. "I shall pay you and take your claim against the
+estate. What kind of a wedding are you to have? You see I must be
+posted in these matters, so that I shall do myself honor and credit as
+the head of the family."
+
+"Of course it will have to be rather quiet, as we are still in
+mourning, and so many of Arthur's family are out of town. He will be up
+to lunch to-day: I asked him to meet you. But he thought--early in
+July," and she colors a little, smiling, too. "We are to go to Newport,
+that is, you know, we really could plan nothing until you came. And,
+oh, Floyd, it will be so delightful to have Madame Lepelletier! We have
+been talking it over, and she will help me do my shopping. She is just
+as good as she is lovely. But if you only could have ordered me some
+things in Paris!"
+
+"Why, I never bought any such thing in my life," says Floyd,
+laughingly. "But I have some trinkets among my luggage that you may
+like, gems and cameos, and some curious bracelets. I did remember that
+I had some sisters at home."
+
+"Oh, you are really charming! You cannot imagine how doleful we have
+been. Eugene could not do anything about the money, and he has been in
+a worry with Mr. Wilmarth and cross if any one said a word."
+
+Floyd laughs at this. The idea of Eugene being cross is amusing.
+
+Laura flits out of the room much elated. She and Arthur can settle
+everything to-day, and the shopping will be so delightful, for Madame
+Lepelletier is quite as good as a Frenchwoman.
+
+Mrs. Grandon sighs, and Floyd looks at her questioningly.
+
+"You are so good, Floyd. It is such a relief to have you. I only hope
+the business will not weary you out, and that--there will be no real
+trouble."
+
+He kisses Cecil's little hand that is wandering through his beard, and
+presses her closer as she sits quietly on his knee. "I shall think
+nothing a trouble," he says. "It is father's trust to me. Come, you
+must be gay and happy, and not cloud Laura's wedding with forebodings.
+Let us take a tour through the house now. I am quite curious to know if
+I have remembered it rightly."
+
+"I wonder if you can find your way. I must look after the luncheon."
+
+"Oh, yes," he replies. "I think there is no labyrinth."
+
+On one side of the hall there is the long drawing-room, and a smaller
+apartment that might be a conservatory it is so full of windows, or a
+library, but it is a sort of sitting-room at present. Then the tower,
+that has a large entrance, and might be the facade, if one pleased. An
+oaken stairway winds a little to the room above, which is empty but for
+a few chairs and a bamboo settee. Up again to another lovely room, and
+then it is crowned by an observatory. From here the prospect is
+magnificent. The towns above, that dot the river's edge, and the long
+stretch below, are like a panorama. How wonderfully changed! How busy
+and thriving this new world is! He thinks of the leagues and leagues he
+has traversed where a mill or a factory would be an unknown problem,
+and the listless stupor of content is over all. Yet buried in the sand
+or under ruins is the history of ages as prosperous, as intellectual,
+and as wise. How strange a thing the world of life really is!
+
+Cecil breaks into his thoughts with her tender chatter. She is not an
+obtrusive child, and, though bright, has grave moods and strange spells
+of thought. She is delighted to be so high up and able to look down
+over everything.
+
+They return at length, and he carries her down-stairs. On the second
+floor there is a connecting passage to the main house, and two
+beautiful rooms that he planned for himself because they were retired.
+Feminine belongings are scattered about,--satchels and fans and queer
+bottles of perfumery. He guesses rightly that Laura is domiciled here,
+and in the adjoining chamber Gertrude lies on the bed with a novel.
+
+"Oh, Floyd!"
+
+"Pardon me."
+
+"Come in," she says, raising herself on one elbow. "I am up here a good
+deal, because I like quiet and my health is so wretched. Everybody else
+is busy about something, and I bore them, so I keep out of their way."
+
+"You do look poorly," he answers, sympathetically. She is not only
+pale, but sallow, and there are hollows in her cheeks. Her hands, which
+were once very pretty, are thin as birds' claws. There is a fretful
+little crease in her forehead, and her eyes have a look of utter
+weariness.
+
+"Yes, I am never strong. I cannot bear excitement. Marcia's life would
+exhaust me in a month, and Laura's fuss would drive me crazy. Have they
+said anything about her marriage?"
+
+"It is all settled, or will be when her lover comes to-day. Do you like
+him, Gertrude?"
+
+"He is well enough, I suppose, and rich. You couldn't imagine Laura
+marrying a poor man."
+
+Floyd Grandon is not at all sure that he understands the hidden or
+manifest purposes of love, but he has a secret clinging to the orthodox
+belief that it is a necessary ingredient in marriages.
+
+"You are cynical," he says, with a pleasant laugh. "You do not have
+enough fresh air."
+
+"But I see Laura." Then, after a pause, "Do not imagine I have the
+slightest objection. There will be only two of us left, and it does
+seem as if Marcia might pick up some one. Floyd----"
+
+"Well," as she makes a long pause.
+
+"Do you know anything about the business? Eugene is so--so
+unsatisfactory. Where is Laura going to get her money?"
+
+"I shall attend to that. Gertrude, what has been said about affairs
+that makes you all so desponding?"
+
+Floyd Grandon asks a question as if he expected an answer. Gertrude
+gives a little twist to her long, slender figure, and pushes one
+shoulder forward.
+
+"Well, there has been no money, and Eugene cannot get any. And all you
+hear about is notes to pay."
+
+The house certainly does not look as if there was any lack. The table
+is bountiful, and he has seen four servants, he is quite sure.
+
+"My not being here has delayed the settlement, no doubt," he answers,
+cheerfully. "It will all come right."
+
+"You quite put courage into one. I suppose you always feel well and
+strong; you have grown handsome, Floyd, and there is nothing to make
+you desponding."
+
+"Yes, I am always well. Do you stay in-doors all the time and read? You
+must have a change, something to stir your nerves and brain, and infuse
+a new spirit in you."
+
+"I am too weak for exercise. Even carriage-riding tires me dreadfully.
+And my nerves cannot bear the least thing. I dread this wedding and all
+the tumult, only it will be excellent to have it finished up and off
+one's mind." Then she sighs and turns to her book again.
+
+"We are on a tour of discovery," says Floyd, rather gayly, as he moves
+forward. "The house seems quite new to me, and extremely interesting."
+
+She makes no effort to detain him. They turn into the hall, and a voice
+from above calls Floyd.
+
+"Oh, are you up here, Marcia?" beginning to ascend.
+
+"Yes. Here is my eyrie, my den, my study, or whatever name fits it
+best. I have a fancy for being high up. Nothing disturbs me. I have
+never been able, though, to decide which I really liked best, this or
+the tower. Only here I have three connecting rooms. Cecil, you little
+darling, come and kiss me! Floyd, I must paint that heavenly child! I
+have been doing a little at portraits. I want to take some lessons as
+soon as the ships come in. I hope you have brought fair weather,
+and--is it a high tide that floats the barque in successfully?"
+
+She utters all this in a breath, and makes a dash at Cecil, who buries
+her face in her father's coat-sleeve.
+
+"Cecil's kisses do not seem to be very plentiful," he remarks. "But how
+quaint and pretty you are up here!"
+
+The sleeping chamber is done up in white, gold, and blue, and in very
+tolerable order. This middle room is characteristic. The floor is of
+hard wood and oiled, and rugs of every description are scattered about.
+Easels with and without pictures, studies, paintings in oil and
+water-colors, bric-a-brac of every shape and kind, from pretty to ugly,
+a cabinet, some book-shelves, a wide, tempting lounge in faded raw
+silk, with immense, loose cushions, two tables full of litter, and
+several lounging chairs. Evidently Marcia is not of the severe order.
+
+The third room really beggars description. An easel stands before the
+window, with a pretentious canvas on which a winding river has made its
+appearance, but the dry land has not yet emerged from chaos.
+
+"You paint"--he begins, when she interrupts,--
+
+"And now that you have come, Floyd, you can give me some advice. I
+was such a young idiot when I ran over Europe, but you have done it
+leisurely. Did you devote much time to French art? I can't decide which
+to make a specialty. The French are certainly better teachers, but why,
+then, do so many go to Rome? It is my dream." And she clasps her hands
+in a melodramatic manner.
+
+"What have you been doing?" he asks, as she pauses for breath.
+
+"I took up those things first," nodding to some flower pieces. "But
+every school-girl paints them."
+
+"These are exceedingly well done," he says, examining them closely.
+
+"There is nothing distinctive about them. Who remembers a rose or a
+bunch of field flowers? Half a dozen women have honorable mention and
+one cannot be told from the other. But a landscape or a story or a
+striking portrait,--you really must let me try Cecil," glancing at her
+with rapture. "Oh, there is an article here in the _Art Journal_ on
+which you must give me an opinion." And flying up, she begins a
+confusing search. "It is so good to find a kindred soul----"
+
+A light tap at the door breaks up the call. It is Jane, who with a true
+English courtesy says,--
+
+"If you please, Mr. Grandon, Miss Laura sent me to say that Mr. Delancy
+has come."
+
+Floyd has been so amused with Marcia that he goes rather reluctantly,
+and finds his sister's betrothed in the drawing-room, quite at home
+with Madame Lepelletier, though possibly a little dazzled. Arthur
+Delancy is a blond young man of five or six and twenty, well looking,
+well dressed, and up in all the usages of "the best society." He greets
+Mr. Grandon with just the right shade of deference as the elder and a
+sort of guardian to his _finance_. He pays his respects to Miss Cecil
+with an air that completely satisfies the little lady, it has the
+distance about it so congenial to her.
+
+"Floyd," Laura says, with a laugh, "that child is intensely English.
+She has the 'insular pride' we hear so much about."
+
+"And English hair and complexion," continues Mr. Delancy; while madame
+adds her graceful little meed.
+
+A very pleasant general conversation ensues, followed by an elegant
+luncheon, to which Eugene adds a measure of gayety. Afterward the two
+gentlemen discuss business, and with several references to Laura the
+bridal day is appointed six weeks hence. The marriage they decide will
+be in church, and a wedding breakfast at home, quiet, with only a few
+friends and relatives, and after a week in Canada they will go to
+Newport.
+
+"But how can I ever get ready?" cries Laura in dismay to madame. "Why,
+I haven't anything! I shall actually wear you out with questions and
+decisions. Oh, do you realize that you are a perfect godsend?" and she
+kisses her enthusiastically.
+
+"Yes," says Madame Lepelletier, so softly and sweetly that it is like a
+breath of musical accord. "I will settle myself in the city and you
+must come to me----"
+
+"In the city!" interrupts Laura, with both dismay and incredulity in
+her tone. "My dearest dear, you will not be allowed to leave Grandon
+Park, except with myself for keeper, to return as soon as may be."
+
+"But I cannot trespass on your hospitality."
+
+"Mamma, Floyd, will you come and invite Madame Lepelletier to make a
+two months' visit? I want her for six full weeks, and then she must
+have a little rest."
+
+They overrule all her delicate scruples, though Mrs. Grandon does it
+rather against her will. Is it bringing temptation to Floyd's hand,
+that perhaps might not reach out otherwise!
+
+That is settled. Floyd's boxes and trunks make their appearance, Eugene
+orders the horses, and the four go to drive on this magnificent
+afternoon.
+
+"I think," Floyd says to his mother when the sound of wheels has
+subsided, "this luggage may as well go to the tower room. I wish----"
+Will he not seem ungracious to declare his preferences so soon?
+
+"What?" she asks, a little nervously.
+
+"It would make too much fuss at this crisis to change rooms with the
+girls, I suppose?"
+
+"Let Laura take the larger front room? She did have it until we heard
+you were coming. Oh, she wouldn't mind. But you----"
+
+"I should be out of the way there by myself," he pleads. "All my traps
+would be handy, and if I wanted to sit up at night I should disturb no
+one."
+
+"It shall be just as you like. Yes, it would be more convenient for
+you. Why, we could go at it this very afternoon."
+
+"But Gertrude----"
+
+"Give Gertrude a book and she would sit in the debris of Mount
+Vesuvius," says her mother.
+
+Mary, the housemaid, is called upon, and cook generously offers her
+services. Gertrude comes down-stairs grumbling a little. The two rooms
+are speedily dismantled of feminine belongings, but the quaint old
+mahogany bedroom suite is taken over because Floyd prefers it to the
+light ash with its fancy adornments. James, the coachman, and Briggs,
+the young lad, carry up the luggage. There is a little sweeping and
+dusting, and Floyd settles his rooms as he has often settled a tent or
+a cabin or a cottage. He has grown to be as handy as a woman.
+
+He feels more at home over here, not so much like a guest. His room is
+not so large, but he has all the tower and the wide prospect on both
+sides. He can read and smoke and sit up at his pleasure without
+disturbing a soul. The "girls" and the wedding finery will all be
+together.
+
+"Laura will be delighted," declares Mrs. Grandon again. In her secret
+heart she feels this arrangement will take Floyd a little out of
+madame's reach. Beside the tower there is a back stairway leading to a
+side entrance, quite convenient to Eugene's room. It is admirable
+altogether.
+
+Floyd begins to unpack with hearty energy. Only the most necessary
+articles, the rest will keep till a day of leisure. To-morrow he must
+look into the business, and he hopes he will not find matters very
+troublesome. He has a good deal of his own work to do, and he sighs a
+little, wishing the wedding were well over.
+
+Laura leaves her lover at the station, and is not a whit disconcerted
+by the change in affairs.
+
+She and Madame Lepelletier are going to the city to-morrow to spend
+several days in shopping, and this evening they must devote to a
+discussion of apparel. They scarcely miss Floyd, who goes to bed at
+last with the utmost satisfaction.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+My heart no truer, but my words and ways more true to it.--ROBERT
+BROWNING.
+
+
+"Say good by to papa." And Floyd Grandon stoops to kiss his little
+daughter. "Jane will take you out to walk, and Aunt Gertrude will show
+you the pictures again if you ask her."
+
+The evening before she had evinced a decided liking for Gertrude.
+
+"Where are you going?" There was a quick apprehensiveness in her tone
+as she caught his hand.
+
+"On some business," with a smile.
+
+"Take me, too. I don't want to stay here alone," she cries,
+imperiously.
+
+There is a soft rustle in the hall. Madame has come down in advance of
+Laura. The carriage stands waiting to take them to the station.
+
+Floyd bites his lips in annoyance. Since they left Devonshire, Cecil
+has scarcely been an hour out of his sight save when asleep. He cannot
+take her now,--the thought is absurd.
+
+"No, my dear. It would not amuse a little girl, and I shall be too
+busy. Do not be naughty," he entreats.
+
+"I want to go with you. I will not stay here!"
+
+"Cecil!"
+
+"I will run away," she says, daringly. "I will not look at pictures nor
+walk with Jane."
+
+"Then you will be naughty, and papa cannot love you," bending his face
+down to hers. "I shall not be glad to come back to a little girl who
+will not please or obey me."
+
+"Take me, then!" There is a great, dry sob in her throat.
+
+If only Madame Lepelletier were away! His experience with children is
+so very limited, that he is almost weak enough to yield to this sweet
+tyranny.
+
+"Kiss me." Eugene has driven around with his horse and the buggy.
+
+Cecil drops her hands by her side, and her large, deep eyes float in
+tears, but her brilliant lips are set. Just once they open.
+
+"You are naughty to me," she says, with childish audacity.
+
+"Very well." He takes a slow step as if to give her time for
+repentance. He could bestow an undignified shake upon the proud little
+mite, but he refrains.
+
+"Jane, come and look after Miss Cecil," he exclaims, authoritatively.
+Then he gives her a quick kiss, but she stands with swelling chest and
+eyes glittering in tears, watching him out of sight.
+
+Aunt Laura rustles down.
+
+"Mutiny in the camp," says madame, with a little laugh; and though
+Cecil does not understand, she knows she is meant.
+
+"Floyd will have his hands full with that child," comments Laura. "She
+is not so angelic as she looks."
+
+Floyd has stepped into the buggy. Sultan snuffs with his thin nostrils,
+and paces with proud grace.
+
+"There's a beauty for you, Floyd," Eugene says, triumphantly. "You
+cannot find his match anywhere about here."
+
+Floyd is very fond of handsome horses, and Sultan stirs a sudden
+enthusiasm. Eugene expatiates eloquently upon his merits, which are
+evident. The shady road, the fragrant air, the glimpses of the broad
+river glittering in the morning sun, and the purple cliff opposite, are
+indeed a dream of beauty. He more than half wishes there was no
+business to distract one's mind.
+
+"How it has all changed!" he says, presently. "I was amazed yesterday,
+looking from the tower, to see how Westbrook had enlarged her borders
+and indulged in high chimneys. There must be considerable business in
+the town. There is quite a length of dock and shipping, and streets in
+every direction."
+
+"Yes. Floyd, will you go to Connery's first or to the factory? The will
+is in the safe, the letter of instruction at the lawyer's."
+
+"Why not stop and get that? I want to see both, you know."
+
+"And Connery's room is a stuffy little den. Well, we will stop for it,
+and if you want to consult him afterward, you can."
+
+Mr. Connery has gone to the city on important business. The clerk hunts
+up the packet, and they go on.
+
+The old factory has altered as well. A new part has been built, with a
+pretentious business office, and an ante-room that is quite luxuriously
+appointed, with Russia-leather chairs, lounge, a pretty cabinet,
+pictures, and several lovely statuettes.
+
+"Now if you want to go through all these things, Floyd, you can do it
+at your leisure. We can't talk business until we know what basis it is
+to be on, and the will is a sort of dead letter without further
+instructions. I have a little errand to do which will take an hour or
+so, and----"
+
+"Yes," is the quick affirmative. He is holding his dead father's letter
+in his hand and wishing to be alone with it.
+
+"Here is the will," taking it from the safe. "There are cigars, so make
+yourself comfortable, and if you should prove the arbiter of my fate,
+deal gently." And the young man gives a gay little laugh.
+
+Floyd seats himself by the window, but fond as he is of smoking, the
+cigars do not tempt him. His eyes rest upon these words until they all
+seem to run together:--"For my eldest son, Floyd Grandon. To be read by
+him before any settlement of the business." How different these
+irregular letters from his father's usual firm business hand! Ah, how
+soon afterward the trembling fingers were cold in death! He presses it
+to his lips with an unconscious, reverent tenderness.
+
+The love between them had not been of the romantic kind, but he recalls
+his father's pride and pleasure in his young manhood, his interest in
+the house and the marriage arrangement. The later letters of his father
+have touched him, too, with a sort of secret weariness, as if his
+absorbing interest in business had begun to decline. He had planned
+some release and journeys for him, but the last journey of all had been
+taken, and he was at rest.
+
+Slowly he broke the double seal and took the missive out of its
+enclosure, and began the perusal.
+
+    _To my dear Son Floyd_,--When you read this the hand that penned it
+    will be mouldering in the dust, its labor ended but not finished.
+
+The pathos blurred his eyes, and he turned them to the window. The sun
+shone, the busy feet tramped to and fro, there was the ceaseless hum of
+the machinery, but the brain that had planned, the heart that had
+hoped, was away from it all, silent and cold, and the mantle had fallen
+on one who had no part or lot in the matter.
+
+The letter had been written at intervals, and gave a clear statement of
+the business. Mr. Wilmarth had one quarter-share, Mr. St. Vincent had
+another quarter-share, and a certain amount of royalty on a patent that
+Mr. Grandon felt would secure a fortune to them all if rightly managed.
+For this, he asked Floyd's supervision. Eugene was too young to feel
+the importance of strict, vigorous attention. There was no ready money,
+the factory was mortgaged, and the only maintenance of the family must
+come from the business.
+
+A chill sped over Floyd. Commercial pursuits had always wearied and
+disgusted him. Now, when he understood the bent and delight of his own
+soul, to lay his work aside and take up this--ah, he could not, he
+said.
+
+Then he went over the will. To his mother, the furniture and silver,
+and, in lieu of dower, the sum of two thousand dollars yearly. To his
+sisters, the sum of five thousand apiece, to be paid as soon as the
+business would allow, and at the expiration of a term of years five
+thousand more. The half-share of the business to belong to Eugene
+solely after the legacies were paid. The library and two valuable
+pictures were bequeathed to Floyd, and in the tender explanation, he
+knew it was from no lack of affection that he had been left out of
+other matters.
+
+The heavy bell clangs out the hour of noon. No one comes to disturb
+him. It seems like being in the presence of the dead, in a kind of
+breathless, waiting mystery. The duty is thrust upon him, if it can be
+done. His father seems confident, but how will liabilities and assets
+balance? Then he remembers the luxury at home, Eugene's fast horse, and
+his air of easy indifference. Certainly there must be something.
+
+After a while the quiet oppresses him. He saunters around the room,
+that wears the aspect of indolent ease rather than business. Then he
+emerges into a wide hallway, and strolls over opposite. Here is a
+well-packed storehouse, then a small place in semi-obscurity, into
+which he peers wonderingly, when a figure rises that startles him out
+of his self-possession for a moment.
+
+A man whose age would be hard to tell, though his thick, short hair is
+iron gray and his beard many shades whiter. Short of stature, with very
+high shoulders, that suggest physical deformity, squarely built and
+stout, a square, rugged face, with light, steely eyes and overhanging
+brows. It _is_ a repellent face and form, and Floyd Grandon says
+slowly,--
+
+"Pardon my intrusion. I--" rather embarrassed at the steady gaze--"I am
+Mr. Floyd Grandon."
+
+"Ah!" There is something akin to a sneer in the exclamation. "Doubtless
+your brother has spoken of me,--Jasper Wilmarth."
+
+This, then, is his father's partner. He is utterly amazed, bewildered.
+
+"I heard of your return," he continues. There is something peculiar, as
+if the man weighed every word. "We have been looking for you," rather
+dryly.
+
+"I hope my delay has not proved injurious to the business," says
+Grandon, recovering his usual dignity. "I find that I am executor of
+the estate with my mother, and I suppose some steps are necessary. I
+shall qualify immediately. In what condition is the business?"
+
+"Bad enough," is the reply. "Trade is dull, and I am sorry to say that
+our new machinery, put in at a great expense, does not work
+satisfactorily."
+
+Floyd is startled at the frankness, as well as the admission.
+
+"Where is the other partner, Mr. St. Vincent?"
+
+"Out of town somewhere," indifferently.
+
+"He holds the patent----"
+
+"That we were wild enough to undertake; yes."
+
+"My father seemed to have great hopes of it."
+
+The high shoulders are shrugged higher. There is something bitter and
+contemptuous in the man's face, a look that indicates fighting, though
+what can there be to fight about?
+
+The great bell rings out again. Nooning is over, and there are hurrying
+steps up the wide alleyway.
+
+"I wonder," Floyd begins, "if you know where my brother went. He said
+something about Rockwood,--and was to be back shortly."
+
+"If he has gone to Rockwood, I doubt if you see him before
+mid-afternoon." The sneer is plainly evident here, and Grandon feels
+some antagonistic blood rise.
+
+"I suppose," he continues, in his usual courteous tone, "that it will
+be best to have a business meeting as soon as possible. I will consult
+Mr. Connery; an inventory was taken, I suppose."
+
+"Yes. It is in his hands."
+
+Wilmarth is certainly hard to get on with. To natural brusqueness is
+added an evident disinclination to discuss the business. Floyd is much
+too proud to seem curious, though here he has a right to know all, but
+he feels that he will not be able to make much headway alone.
+
+"I think I will return," he says. "If my brother comes in, tell him, if
+you please, that I have gone home. We have not discussed any business
+yet, but will begin to-morrow. Good day."
+
+He goes back, folds up the papers, and places them carefully in his
+breast-pocket, takes his hat and walks slowly out, wondering if his
+father really trusted this man. He inspires Floyd with a deep,
+inveterate dislike, a curious suspicion before he knows there is
+anything to suspect. He wishes--ah, at that moment he feels inclined to
+pay the legacies and his mother's pension, and wash his hands of the
+other distasteful charge. Then some words of his father's come back:
+"Remember that Eugene is young and thoughtless, and be patient."
+
+It is very warm as he steps into the street, and he remembers a sort of
+river road that used to be shady, where he has rambled many a time.
+Everything is changed, the hills levelled, the valleys filled up, but
+he presently finds a strip of woodland near the shore edge, and a path
+much overgrown with blackberry-vines. He picks his way along, now and
+then meeting with a remembered aspect, when he comes across a sort of
+Swiss _chalet_ on the sloping hillside. Two peaks of roof, odd, long,
+narrow windows, with diamond-shape panes of glass, a vine-covered
+porch, an old woman in black, with white kerchief and high-crowned cap
+suggestive of Normandy; and through an open window a man sitting at a
+table, with instruments or machinery before him, engrossed with some
+experiments. A peculiar, delicate face, with a high, narrow forehead,
+thin white hair worn rather long and now tumbled, a drooping nose, a
+snowy white, pointed beard, and thin, long fingers, as colorless as
+Gertrude's.
+
+Somewhere he has seen a picture of an alchemist not unlike this. He can
+even discern the intent eagerness of the face as the fingers delicately
+manipulate something. So interested is he that he forgets his recent
+perplexity, and, seating himself on a rocky ledge, watches. The air is
+tensely clear, the river blue as the sky in the intervals of shade.
+Here and there a dappled rift of cloud floating slowly, a picture of
+virginal beauty, tinctured with the essence of a hundred summers. The
+air is drowsily sweet, and he lapses into forgetfulness,--a traveller's
+trick.
+
+When he opens his eyes the student is still there; the old woman has
+had her nap and is knitting. A large-eyed greyhound sits at her side.
+Floyd has half a mind to break in upon the scholar's sanctity, but
+remembering that he is now a part and parcel of civilization, refrains
+and resumes his journey; and now it is of Cecil he thinks. The
+perplexities of the morning have quite excluded baby naughtiness. Will
+she be glad to see him,--first in her half-shy, wholly seductive
+manner, then with her ardent, entire love? He _is_ pleased to find her
+not easily won from him.
+
+The house is very quiet. Bruno, the great dog, comes forward and
+studies him with sagacious, penetrating eyes. He pats him and says
+kindly,--
+
+"Your mother knew and loved me, good Bruno."
+
+Gertrude is on the library sofa. "Oh," she cries with a start, "where
+is Eugene?"
+
+"I have not seen him since morning. Gertrude, is there anything special
+at Rockwood?"
+
+"Why no,--the Casino, and the track, you know. They speed horses, and
+sometimes have races, I believe. Have you had lunch?"
+
+"Just a biscuit and a glass of wine will do," he says. "Don't disturb
+yourself. Where is Cecil?"
+
+"Jane has had her all day. She wouldn't even be friendly with me.
+Marcia and mother have gone out for calls, I believe."
+
+Just as he enters the dining-room he turns his head. "Gertrude, do you
+know an odd little cottage on the side of what used to be Savin Rock?"
+
+"A sort of chapel-looking place, with pointed roof?"
+
+"Yes. Who lives there?"
+
+"Why, Mr. St. Vincent."
+
+"The partner, do you mean?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did you ever see him? What kind of looking person is he?"
+
+"Yes. He was here several times. He had the patent, you know. O Floyd,
+_do_ you understand anything about the business? Papa thought he should
+make a great deal of money. Did you see Mr. Wilmarth? Isn't he queer
+and----" She ends with a shiver.
+
+"I feel just that way about him myself. But what is St. Vincent like?"
+
+"Tall and thin and deadly pale. A kind of French Canadian, I believe.
+You see he was so enthusiastic and so sure, and so was papa, but
+something went wrong. Oh, I do hope we will not lose our money! To be
+ill and wretched and homeless, for no doubt you will marry again,
+and----"
+
+Floyd laughs heartily. "You shall not be homeless," he says, "and I
+will even promise to keep you in books. There, don't distress
+yourself." How often he has to administer comfort!
+
+His lunch is the matter of a few moments, then he hurries up-stairs.
+The tower door is open, and there is no one to be seen. He keeps on and
+on until he catches a flutter of a white dress. Cecil is running around
+the observatory, and his heart beats as he glances at the dazzling
+little sprite, with her sparkling eyes and her hair a golden mist about
+her face. He could watch forever, but it is a daring pastime.
+
+"Cecil," he calls softly.
+
+"O papa!" She stops and flushes a deeper pink, then suddenly remembers
+in the midst of her delight, and there is a tacit reproach in her eyes.
+
+"Have you a kiss for papa?"
+
+She considers gravely, then with a quick bound she is in his arms.
+
+"What are you doing up here, alone?"
+
+"I ran away, a little. I am close up to the birdies, papa, see!"
+
+A flock of swallows were wheeling and circling around. She claps her
+hands in glee. "Couldn't you open the windows?"
+
+"Not now. The sun is too warm. And, my darling, I wish you would not
+come up here without Jane. You might fall."
+
+"Miss Cecil, are you up there?" calls Jane.
+
+Grandon takes her down in his arms. "Jane," he says in a low tone,
+"never let Miss Cecil out of your sight."
+
+"Papa," she begins again, "grandmamma went out in such a pretty
+carriage. Can't we go, too?"
+
+"Why, yes, I think so. Stay here until I see whether I can find a
+horse."
+
+He goes out to the stables. The coachman and the gardener are enjoying
+their afternoon pipes. Everything out here seems on the same lavish
+scale. There must be money somewhere, Floyd thinks, or debt, and of
+that he has a horror.
+
+The carriage horses are in, and Mr. Eugene's pretty saddle mare,
+Beauty. Then Marcia has a pony, and Sultan counts up five. He orders
+the carriage without any comment, and actually persuades Gertrude to
+accompany them, or takes her against her will.
+
+The sun is slipping westward now. They leave the beaten ways and go out
+among farm-houses and orchards, broad fields of grain and waving
+grasses, making a mass of subtile harmonies. A feeling of rare content
+fills Floyd Grandon's soul again. There will be so much to enjoy that
+he need not grudge the few months spent in this wearisome business.
+
+Dinner is ready when they return. Marcia is in unusually high spirits,
+but Eugene seems tired and out of humor. He apologizes to Floyd for his
+defection, something quite unexpected detained him.
+
+"Eugene," he says afterward, "let us have a little talk. I want to know
+how matters stand. I saw Mr. Wilmarth and he feels doubtful, I should
+say. What is there about the machinery? The new arrangement does not
+work? Is there any special indebtedness?"
+
+"Wilmarth is looking after that. Trade has somehow fallen off, but it
+is out of season. What are you to do?" he asks, cautiously.
+
+"First, begin to pay the legacies,--fifteen thousand to the girls."
+
+"Well, you can't. There are two notes falling due, and the whole thing
+will have to be squeezed,--if it can be raised. Floyd, you are a lucky
+chap, with a fortune ready made to your hand. I wish I stood in your
+shoes. I hate business!"
+
+He says this with a kind of vicious fling.
+
+The handsome, ease-loving face deepens into a frown. It is eager for
+enjoyment and indifferent to consequences, at once fascinating and
+careless.
+
+"Would you really like to keep the business, Eugene?" asks the elder.
+
+"I wouldn't keep it a day if Wilmarth could take the whole thing. But
+there are so many complications and so much money to pay out. I really
+do not see what is to be left for me," discontentedly.
+
+"If the other two make anything, your half-share ought to be worth
+something."
+
+"But you see it never _can_ pay the--the family."
+
+"It does not seem to me that father would have made just such a will if
+he had not believed it equitable or possible. I shall ask Connery to
+call a meeting to-morrow or as soon as possible. When does this note
+fall due?"
+
+"I really do not know. I told you Wilmarth looked out for those
+things," he says impatiently.
+
+"Have you any clear idea about the new patent? Is it really worth
+working? What are Mr. Wilmarth's views on the subject?"
+
+"St. Vincent has to change something or other. He is very sanguine, and
+wants Wilmarth to wait a little. I don't believe he _has_ perfect faith
+in it."
+
+"I want you to read father's letter," Floyd says gravely.
+
+"Not to-night, old fellow. To tell the truth, my head aches and I feel
+stupid. We'll look into things to-morrow. Only, Floyd, don't bring up a
+fellow with too sharp a turn."
+
+Floyd sighs. He will not have much help in his task, he can plainly
+foresee. There remains Mr. St. Vincent.
+
+"Eugene," and there is a touch of deep feeling in his tone, "I want us
+to work together harmoniously. Remember that I have nothing to gain in
+all this. Whatever I do must be for your benefit and that of the
+family. I have my own plans and aims, but you will always find me
+brotherly."
+
+"Oh, well, don't pull such a solemn face about it. I dare say it will
+come out right. St. Vincent will get everything fixed up presently.
+Every business gets in a tight place now and then. Let us wind up our
+conclave with a friendly cigar."
+
+Floyd is still holding Cecil in his arms, now asleep, but he will not
+relinquish his precious burden. Marcia has some guests on the porch; he
+hears their chatter and laughter. Is he, too; growing captious and
+uncomfortable?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+Still, when we purpose to enjoy ourselves,
+To try our valor fortune sends a foe,
+To try our equanimity a friend.
+
+                         GOETHE.
+
+
+Floyd Grandon resolves upon two steps the next morning, and puts them
+into execution immediately. The first is a visit to Mr. Connery. The
+lawyer is a rather elderly, pleasant-looking man, with a mouth and eyes
+that impress you at once as being quite capable of a certain reserve,
+trust, secrecy. The ordinary courtesies of the day pass between the
+two, and Mr. Grandon can well believe Mr. Connery when he says
+emphatically that he is glad of Mr. Grandon's return.
+
+Floyd proceeds at once to business, and asks his questions in a
+straightforward manner.
+
+"When I drew up your father's will, Mr. Grandon," replies the lawyer,
+"according to his showing it seemed a very fair one. To take out actual
+money would have destroyed the business at once, and that was what he
+counted on for Eugene. Perhaps it was not the wisest plan----"
+
+"I am afraid Eugene cares very little for the business. Still, he is
+nothing of a student----" and Floyd pauses.
+
+"Simply a young man of pleasure, who has always had plenty of money and
+an indulgent father. We may as well look at the facts, and you must
+pardon my plain speaking. He keeps two fast horses, and is at Rockwood
+a good deal. There is a race-course and a kind of gentlemen's
+club-house. It is an excellent place to spend money, if one has it to
+throw away," Mr. Connery adds dryly.
+
+Floyd flushes and a little chill speeds along his nerves. "Did you know
+exactly what the claims against the estate were at the time of my
+father's death?" he asks, getting away from the subject.
+
+"The factory your father owns alone. There is a mortgage of three
+thousand dollars on it. One half-share of the business, stock,
+machinery, etc., was his, and this is subject to a note of seven
+thousand dollars, incurred when the new machinery was put in. Why, it
+must be about due," and Mr. Connery goes to his safe. "The expectation
+was that the business could pay this and then begin with the legacies.
+But--I am afraid all has not been clear sailing."
+
+"How long has this Wilmarth been with my father?" Floyd asks abruptly.
+
+"Four or five years. You see your father hoped very much from some new
+process of manufacture. I wish he could have lived. Wilmarth is not a
+prepossessing man, yet I have never heard him spoken of in any but the
+highest terms. He is a bachelor, lives plainly, and has no vices,
+though he may have a desire to amass a fortune. I think, indeed, he
+rather urged your father to this new undertaking. St. Vincent I really
+know nothing about. He is an inventor and an enthusiast. Your place,
+Mr. Grandon, will be a hard one to fill, and you can count on me for
+any assistance."
+
+"Thank you," returns Floyd, warmly. "I shall see St. Vincent and
+arrange for a meeting. I neither understand business nor like it, and
+have some matters of my own demanding my attention, but I must see this
+placed on a proper basis. I shall be glad to come to you."
+
+Floyd feels as if he had gained one friend. Then he pursues his way to
+the little nest among the cliffs. The greyhound comes to greet him
+first, snuffs him critically, then puts his nose in Grandon's hand. By
+this time the housekeeper has come out, who is a veritable Norman
+woman.
+
+A great disappointment awaits Floyd. Mr. St. Vincent started an hour
+ago for Canada, to bring his daughter home, who has been educated in a
+convent. "But ma'm'selle is a Protestant, like her father," says the
+old lady, with a sigh.
+
+Then Floyd Grandon betakes himself to the factory. Eugene is out. He
+has no fancy for discussing matters with Wilmarth at present, so he
+returns home and busies himself in fitting up a study in one of the
+tower rooms. Rummaging through the attic he finds an old secretary of
+Aunt Marcia's, and unearths other treasures that quite stir his
+sister's envy.
+
+"For those old things are all coming back," she says in a tone of
+poignant regret, whether at this fact or at the realization of the loss
+of them he is not quite certain.
+
+The house is quiet and delightful. Marcia amuses him with her artistic
+flights and wild fancies. Floyd thinks if she would confine herself to
+the work she could do really well she would be a success, but her
+ambition is so tinctured with every new view that she never quite
+settles, but flutters continually.
+
+That evening Floyd resolves to bring Eugene to a sense of what lies
+actually before him. He evades at first, fidgets, and grows
+unmistakably cross.
+
+"The family expenses, Eugene,--how have they been met?" questions the
+elder steadily.
+
+"They haven't been met at all," says Eugene. "There has only been money
+enough to pay the men and all that. I told you Laura couldn't have her
+money. But there was no use breaking up the family,--where could they
+have gone?"
+
+"I think, then, there has been a good deal of extravagance," is Floyd's
+decisive comment. "There are five horses in the stable, and four
+servants. I cannot afford such an establishment."
+
+"Oh, I say, Floyd, don't turn a miserable hunks of a miser the first
+thing, when you have such a splendid fortune! I wouldn't grudge
+anything with all that money in my hand."
+
+"Some of it will go rapidly enough. I shall pay Gertrude and Marcia
+their first instalment, as I have Laura, and my mother must have
+something. Then, the house debts; do you know where the bills are?"
+
+With Mrs. Grandon's help they get the bills together, and there are
+some still to come in.
+
+"Of course the house is yours," says his mother in a sharp tone. "You
+may wish to marry again----"
+
+That is so far from Floyd's thoughts that he shakes his head
+impatiently and replies,--
+
+"The thing to be considered is _who_ is to provide for the family. If
+the business cannot do it at present, I shall. But it will have to be
+done within _my_ income. My own habits are not extravagant----"
+
+"Well, I should say!" and Eugene laughs immoderately. "A man who
+travels round the world like a prince, who buys everything he chooses,
+joins exploring expeditions with lords and marquises, keeps a maid for
+his daughter,--you have not arrived at that dignity, mother mine?"
+
+"I do not think the maid for my daughter will cost more than one fast
+horse, Eugene."
+
+"O boys, do not quarrel!" entreats their mother.
+
+"I hope I shall never quarrel," says Floyd, in a steadfast, reassuring
+tone. "I could lay down my father's charge, he gives me that privilege
+if I find I cannot save the business without spending my private
+fortune. If you would rather have me withdraw----"
+
+"Oh, no! no!" cries his mother. She has felt for some time that they
+were steadily going to ruin under Eugene's _regime_, but he is her idol
+and she loves him with a curious pride that could deny him nothing;
+would not even blame him, and wishes him to be prosperous. "I really
+think you would have no right, Floyd."
+
+"Then if I must work, if I must give my time, interest, and money, I
+shall have to know how everything stands. I shall have to provide to
+the best of _my_ judgment. You _must_ all trust in me, and believe that
+I am acting for your welfare."
+
+There is no affirmative to this, and Floyd feels really hurt. Eugene
+sits rolling the corner of the rug under his foot with a kind of
+vicious force, and is sulkily silent.
+
+"Your father expected, Floyd----" and Mrs. Grandon buries her face in
+her hands, giving way to tears.
+
+"My dear mother, I shall do everything my father desired, if it is in
+my power. Eugene," suddenly, "how does Mr. Wilmarth propose to meet
+this note?"
+
+"Don't worry about the note. You must admit that he knows more about
+the business than you."
+
+"Very well," Floyd returns, with ominous calmness. "I will pay up the
+house bills to-morrow, and there will be no change until after Laura's
+marriage. Let us remember that our interests are identical, that one
+cannot suffer without the other. Good night."
+
+He bends over to kiss his mother, and leaves the room. He had never
+mistrusted before that his soul was unduly sensitive, his temper bad,
+his patience of a poor quality. He is tempted to make a rush back to
+the old, free, wandering life. But if he does, the family portion will
+be ruin. He cannot be indifferent to their welfare, nor to the fact
+that if events go wrongly he will be blamed.
+
+He goes at the business promptly the next morning. With Mr. Conner's
+assistance he pays Marcia's and Gertrude's portion, and reinvests it.
+They can have the interest or squander the principal. He calls on
+several tradesmen and takes their receipts. The note is still a matter
+of perplexity, and Mr. Connery is appointed to confer with the holder
+and ask him to meet Mr. Floyd Grandon. Then he settles about a strip of
+land for which he has been offered a fabulous sum, it seems to him.
+This will give him all the ready money he will need at present.
+
+Marcia is effusively grateful. "You dear, dear Floyd!" And she kisses
+him with the ardor of sixteen. "_Now_ I can have a glorious summer. A
+party of us planned an artistic tour, camping out, living with Nature,
+and wresting her secrets of tone and color from her, studying in the
+dim, cathedral like recesses of the woods, apart from the glare and
+conventionalism of the heartless world----"
+
+"I want you to understand this matter," interrupts Grandon. "It is an
+excellent investment. Very few sure things pay eight per cent. You will
+have just four hundred dollars a year for pin money," laughingly. "I
+think I had better lend you a little at present, so that you will not
+need to break into your principal. How much will this summering cost?"
+
+"Oh," says Marcia, airily, "two hundred, perhaps. We shall be simple
+and frugal."
+
+"Then I will write a check for that." He smiles a little to himself.
+Has any member of the family the least idea of the value of money?
+
+Gertrude is surprised and frightened. "I'm sure, Floyd," and she is
+half crying, "that I don't want to go away. If you _did_ marry I should
+never meddle or make trouble, but I would like to stay. Any room would
+do for me, and a few books----"
+
+"I'm not married yet," he replies, rather brusquely. Do they suppose he
+means to turn them all out of the house the very first thing?
+
+Laura and madame come home that evening, and the young girl is in a
+whirl of delight. Madame Lepelletier is the incarnation of all the
+virtues and graces. They have done wonders in shopping. Such robes,
+such marvels, such satins and laces and delights dear to the feminine
+eye, and not half the money spent! Laura's joy raises the depressing
+atmosphere of the house. Then madame has offered to supervise the
+workwomen at home, and altogether Laura will be a gorgeous bride.
+
+Floyd hunts up his trinkets. There is an elegant lapis-lazuli necklace,
+there are some curious Egyptian bracelets, with scarabaei that will
+render her the envy of her little world. There are some unset emeralds,
+opals, and various curious gems of more value to a cabinet than to a
+woman of fashion. A few diamonds and sapphires, but these he shall save
+for Cecil.
+
+Laura helps herself plentifully, and Marcia is tempted by a few. Madame
+Lepelletier would like to check this lavish generosity; there may be
+some one beside Cecil, one day. Floyd Grandon puzzles her. As a general
+thing she has found men quite ready to go down to her, sometimes when
+they had no right. But she decides within herself that his affairs need
+a mistress at their head, that his child will be quite spoiled by the
+exclusive attention he gives her, and that she could minister wisely
+and well. She is a prudent and ambitious woman. She does not sow money
+broadcast like the Grandon girls, but gets the full worth of it
+everywhere. More than all, Floyd Grandon has stirred her very being. In
+those old days she might have liked him, now she could love him with
+all the depth of a woman's soul. Her French marriage never touched her
+very deeply, so she seems quite heart-free, ready to begin from the
+very first of love and sound the notes through the whole octave.
+
+But Floyd keeps so curiously out of the way. His study is so apart, he
+is writing, or out on business, or walking with Cecil. There is a good
+deal of company in the evening, but he manages to be engaged. At times
+she fairly hates this wedding fuss over which she smiles so serenely.
+
+"Eugene," Floyd begins, one morning, "I have just had a note from
+Briggs & Co. One member of the firm will be here to-morrow. I have
+advised them that their money is in Mr. Connery's hands, and I pay the
+note for Grandon & Co. When Mr. St. Vincent returns we will go over
+matters thoroughly and see what state the business really is in."
+
+Eugene has turned red and pale, and now his face is very white and his
+eyes flash with anger.
+
+"I told you to let that alone!" he flings out. "All the arrangements
+have been made. Wilmarth has the money."
+
+"I prefer to loan it, instead of having Wilmarth."
+
+"You can't, you shall not," declares Eugene. "I have--the thing is
+settled. You have no real business with the firm's affairs."
+
+"You are mistaken there. You have admitted that there was barely enough
+coming in to pay current expenses, and nothing toward meeting the note.
+You cannot mortgage or dispose of any part without my advice or
+consent. I can offer this loan, which I do for a number of years, then
+there will be no pressing demand----"
+
+Eugene looks thunderstruck; no other word expresses the surprise and
+alarm.
+
+"You cannot do it!" he says hoarsely, "because--because--well, I hate
+the whole thing! I've no head for it! You will have to know to-morrow;
+I have sold half my share to Wilmarth."
+
+"For what amount?" quietly asks the elder brother.
+
+"Twelve thousand dollars."
+
+Floyd has had one talk with Wilmarth of an extremely discouraging
+nature. Now it seems to him if Wilmarth is willing to invest more
+deeply, he cannot consider it quite hopeless. He _does_ distrust the
+man.
+
+"You cannot do this, Eugene. In the first place, the half-share is not
+yours, until the legacies have been paid."
+
+"They never can be! I would take Wilmarth's word as soon as yours.
+There is no use worrying and scrimping and going without everything for
+the sake of the others."
+
+"For shame, Eugene. But fortunately the law has to settle this, not any
+individual preference. Let us go to Mr. Connery at once."
+
+"I shall keep to my bargain, to my word," says Eugene, with sullen
+persistence. "I don't want any advice, and the thing _is_ done."
+
+"Then it will have to be undone, that is all."
+
+Eugene rushes out of the room. Floyd immediately starts for the
+lawyer's, and after a discussion they seek an interview with Mr.
+Wilmarth. The whole transaction is a fraudulent one, and Mr. Connery
+will invoke the aid of the law if there is no other way out.
+
+Mr. Wilmarth is taken very much by surprise, that they can both see.
+His first attitude looks like battle. Mr. Connery makes a brief and
+succinct statement, explaining what he puts very graciously as a
+mistake or an informality, and Wilmarth listens attentively.
+
+"Gentlemen," he says, with a great effort at suavity, "this was young
+Mr. Grandon's offer. I may as well explain to you," with a stinging
+emphasis, "that _he_ is a good deal in debt and needs money. I should
+have held this share subject to some demands, of course. Three thousand
+five hundred was to go to his share of the note, and the rest was to be
+subject to his call at any time."
+
+Floyd Grandon is so incensed that he shows his hand incautiously.
+
+"Mr. Wilmarth, I offer you twelve thousand dollars for your
+quarter-share," he says.
+
+"Mr. Grandon, I beg leave to decline it."
+
+The two men measure each other. They will always be antagonistic.
+
+"What will you take to dispose of it?"
+
+"It is not for sale."
+
+"Then you must have faith in the ultimate recovery of the business."
+
+"Not necessarily. If I choose to risk my money it is my own affair. I
+have no family to impoverish. And all business is a risk, a species of
+gambling. You stake your money against the demand for a certain line of
+goods, red, we will say. The ball rises and lo, it is white, but you
+whistle 'better luck next time.'"
+
+Mr. Connery has been thinking. "So you expected to take half the amount
+of the note out of Mr. Eugene's quarter-share?" he says.
+
+Wilmarth starts, then puts on an air of surprise that is quite evident
+to the others.
+
+"That _is_ a mistake," he admits frankly. "No doubt we should have
+found it out in the course of settlement. I trusted most of this matter
+to Eugene, and he surely should not have wronged himself. But it is all
+of no consequence now; as well tear up the memorandum. But, Mr. Grandon,
+if you are to be your brother's banker, may I trouble you to settle
+these?"
+
+He hands Floyd three notes. They aggregate nearly two thousand dollars.
+Floyd Grandon folds them without a motion of surprise, and promises to
+attend to them to-morrow, when the note is taken up.
+
+"Your brother has not your father's head for business," Wilmarth says,
+with scarcely concealed contempt.
+
+"No. It is quite a matter of regret, since it was to be his portion."
+
+"To-morrow we will meet here for the settlement of the note," announces
+Mr. Connery. Then they say good morning with outward politeness.
+
+Wilmarth's eyes follow Grandon's retreating figure. He has mistaken his
+man, a thing he seldom does; but Floyd's antecedents, his refinement,
+and scholarly predilections have misled him into believing he could be
+as easily managed as Eugene. Wilmarth has given his adversary one
+advantage which he bitterly regrets. When Eugene named half for his
+share of the note he had let it go, and in the two or three
+after-references Eugene clearly had not seen it. Wilmarth had repeated
+the statement carelessly, and now he would give much to recall it,
+though otherwise it might have gone without a thought.
+
+Eugene absents himself all day. Mrs. Grandon is much distressed, but
+she is afraid to question Floyd. Even the next morning they merely nod
+carelessly, and no word is said until Floyd brings home the notes.
+
+"Have you any more debts?" Floyd asks in a quiet tone, which he means
+to be kindly as well.
+
+"No." Then curiosity gets the better of the young man. "Was there an
+awful row, Floyd?"
+
+"Mr. Wilmarth, of course, saw the utter impossibility of any such
+agreement. Eugene," slowly, "is there anything you would like better
+than the business?"
+
+"No business at all," answers Eugene, with audacious frankness. "I
+really haven't any head for it."
+
+"But you understand--something, surely? You can--keep books, for
+instance? What did you do in father's time?"
+
+"Made myself generally useful. Wrote letters and carried messages and
+went to the city," is the laconic reply.
+
+Floyd is so weary and discouraged that something in his face touches
+Eugene.
+
+"I wish you wanted to take my mare, Beauty, for part of this," he says,
+hesitatingly. "She cost me a thousand dollars, but I won back three
+hundred on the first race. She's gentle, too, and a saddle horse, that
+is, for a man. You would like her, I know."
+
+Floyd considers a moment. "Yes," he makes answer, and hands Eugene the
+largest note, which balances it. "Make me out a bill of sale," he adds.
+
+"You're a good fellow, Floyd, and I'm obliged."
+
+For a moment Floyd Grandon feels like giving his younger brother some
+good advice, then he realizes the utter hopelessness of it. Nothing
+will sink into Eugene's mind, it is all surface. It may be that
+Wilmarth's influence is not a good thing for a young man. How has his
+father been so blinded?
+
+"That man is a villain," Connery had said when they left the factory.
+"It will be war between you, and you had better get him out if it is
+possible."
+
+Floyd sighs now, thinking of all the perplexities. What is Mr. St.
+Vincent like? Will there be trouble in this direction as well?
+
+He has deputed Connery to find him some efficient mechanician to go
+over the factory and see what can be done. Surely Wilmarth cannot
+oppose anything for their united interest, unless, indeed, he means to
+ruin if he cannot rule. There _is_ a misgiving in Floyd's mind that he
+is purposely allowing everything to depreciate with a view of getting
+it cheaply into his own hands. Floyd has the capacity of being roused,
+"put on his mettle," and now he resolves, distasteful as it is, to
+fight it through.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+There is a ripe season for everything: if you slip that, or anticipate
+it, you dim the grace of the matter.--BISHOP HACKETT.
+
+
+A rather curious lull falls in factory affairs. Mr. Wilmarth is gone
+almost a fortnight. Floyd makes the acquaintance of the superintendent,
+and finds him an intelligent man, but rather opposed to the new system
+of machinery.
+
+"We were making money before," he says. "I like to let well alone, but
+Mr. Grandon, your father, was wonderfully taken with St. Vincent's
+ideas. They're good enough, but no better than the old. We gain here,
+and lose there. Of course if it was all as St. Vincent represents,
+there would be a fortune in it,--carpet weaving would be revolutionized.
+But I am afraid there is some mistake."
+
+Mr. Lindmeyer comes up and spends two days watching the working. He is
+very much impressed with some of the ideas. If _he_ could see Mr. St.
+Vincent.
+
+Mr. St. Vincent is ill, but expects to be sufficiently recovered to
+return soon.
+
+All these matters occupy a good deal of Floyd Grandon's time. Cecil
+learns to do without him and allow herself to be amused by Jane and
+Auntie Gertrude, who is her favorite. Marcia teases her by well-meant
+but very injudicious attention. Guests and friends come and go, wedding
+gifts begin to be sent in, and that absorbing air of half-mystery
+pervades every place.
+
+They have all come to adore Madame Lepelletier. Even Mrs. Grandon is
+slowly admitting to herself that Floyd could not do better, and half
+resigns herself to the inevitable second place. Laura takes up the idea
+with the utmost enthusiasm. Gertrude does not share in this general
+worship; she is too listless, and there is a feeling of being distanced
+so very far that it is uncomfortable.
+
+Strange to say, with all her irresistible tenderness she has not won
+Cecil. She feels curiously jealous of this little rival, who, wrapped
+in a shawl, often falls asleep on her father's knee in the evening. He
+always takes her to drive, whoever else goes; and it comes to be a
+matter of course that Cecil has the sole right to him when he is in the
+house and not writing.
+
+There has been so much summer planning. Laura wants madame to come to
+Newport for a month, and partly extorts a promise from Floyd that he
+will give her at least a week. Marcia's "hermits" come up to talk over
+Maine and the Adirondacks and Lake George, and finally settle upon the
+latter. Their nearest neighbors, the Brades, own a cottage in the
+vicinity, and beg Mrs. Grandon and madame and Eugene to bestow upon
+them a week or two. Miss Lucia Brade is extremely sweet upon Eugene,
+who thrives upon admiration, but has a fancy for laying his own at
+madame's feet.
+
+"Why did you not escort that pretty Miss Brade home?" she says one
+evening, when Lucia has been sent in the carriage.
+
+"Why? because my charm was here," he answers audaciously, imprinting a
+kiss upon her fair hand.
+
+"You foolish boy. And I am too tired to remain. I should be dull
+company unless you want to walk."
+
+There is the wandering scent of a cigar in the shrubbery, and they may
+meet Floyd, who has absented himself since dinner.
+
+Eugene goes for her shawl and they take a little ramble. He is very
+averse to finding his brother, and madame tires even of the gentle
+promenade.
+
+But the next morning her star is surely in the ascendant. Cecil sleeps
+late. Floyd is down on the porch, reading and smoking, when the flutter
+of a diaphanous robe, with billowy laces, attracts his eyes and he
+smiles an invitation.
+
+"Shall I intrude?" The voice is soft, with a half-entreaty almost as
+beguiling as Cecil's.
+
+"Indeed, no." There is something wistful in her face, and he gives a
+graceful invitation with his hand to a seat beside him. She is so
+royally beautiful this morning, with her fresh, clear skin, the
+rose-tint on her cheek, her deep, dewy eyes, that still have a
+slumbrous light in them, the exquisite turn of the throat, and the
+alluring smile.
+
+"Do you know," she begins, in the seductive tone to which one can but
+choose to listen,--"do you know that if you had not the burden of Atlas
+upon your shoulders, I should feel tempted to add just a very little to
+a smaller burthen."
+
+"My shoulders are broad, you see," and he laughs with an unusual
+lightness. Somehow he feels happy this morning, as if it was to be a
+fortunate day. "You have been so kind to Laura, that if we could do
+anything in return----"
+
+"Oh, women take naturally to weddings, you know! And Laura is such a
+sweet girl, but so young! I seem ages older. And, shall I come to the
+point,--I want to establish myself. I cannot always be accepting the
+hospitality of my dearest friends, and I have a longing for a home. You
+see American ways have spoiled me already." And she raises her deep,
+languorous eyes.
+
+"A home?"
+
+"Yes." She laughs a little now. "And I need some sort of banking
+arrangement, as well as security for valuable papers. I am quite a
+stranger, you know, and have no relatives."
+
+"Well, you must take us," he answers, in a frank way. "You do not mean
+a home quite by yourself?"
+
+"Why not? I am tired of hotels and rooms. I want a pretty place, with
+some congenial friend, where I can call together choice spirits,
+musical, literary, and artistic, where I can be gay or quiet, read the
+livelong day if I like." And she smiles again, with an enchanting
+grace. "I suppose New York would be better for winter. I should have
+dear Laura to commence with, and not feel quite so lonely. You see,
+now, I really do want to be anchored to some sort of steadfastness, to
+do something with my life and my means, even if it is only making a
+pretty and congenial place in the world where some tired wayfarer may
+come in and rest. We are so prodigal in youth," and she sighs with
+seductive regret, while her beautiful eyes droop; "we scatter or throw
+away the pearls offered us, and later we are glad to go over the way
+and gather them up, if haply no other traveller has been before us."
+
+He is thinking,--not of the past, as she hopes,--but of her gifts for
+making an elegant home. His sisters seem crude and untrained beside
+her. He can imagine such a lovely place with her in the centre, the Old
+World refinement grafted on the new vigor and earnest purpose.
+
+"Yes," he answers, rousing himself. She sees the effort, and allows a
+thrill to speed along her pulses. "But--there is no haste, surely? You
+would not want to go to the city until cool weather. I hope to be there
+a good deal myself this winter. I have some plans,--if I can ever get
+this business off my mind."
+
+There is a curious little exultation in her heart now, but her moods
+and features are well trained. Her face is full of sympathy as she
+raises her beguiling eyes.
+
+"It is a difficult place to fill, to give satisfaction," she says, "and
+you are so new to business. As I remember, you did not like it in the
+old days."
+
+"No." He gives a short laugh. "And, thinking of myself, I find more
+excuse for Eugene's distaste. Yet if I were to let it go, the family
+fortunes would go with it, and I might justly be blamed. I must keep it
+for the year, at all events."
+
+"Is it--very bad?" she asks, timidly.
+
+"I cannot seem to get any true understanding of the case. When Mr. St.
+Vincent comes back we shall go at it in real earnest. And, in any
+event, your portion shall be made safe."
+
+"Oh, do not think of that, it is such a mere trifle! I supposed mamma
+had drawn it all out until I looked over her papers. Then I had a
+notice of the settlement, but I should have come home in any event.
+I had grown tired of Europe, very tired. I dare say you think me
+_ennuied_, whimsical."
+
+"Indeed, I do not," warmly. "Home is to a woman what the setting is to
+a diamond. And though the advice of such a rambler may not be worth
+much, still, whatever I can do----"
+
+He pauses and his eye rests upon her, takes in her exceeding beauty,
+grace, and repose; the admirable fitness for every little exigency that
+society training gives. She seems a part of the morning picture, and
+akin to the fresh, odorous air, the soft yet glowing sun, the rippling
+river, the changeful melody of flitting birds. He is fresh now, not
+vexed and nervous with the cares of the day; he has been reading an old
+poet, too, which has softened him.
+
+An oriole perches on the tree near him and begins an enchanting song.
+Both turn, and she leans over the railing, still in range of his eyes.
+He remembers like a sudden flash that they were here years ago,
+planning, dreaming, hoping, she his promised wife. Does it stir his
+soul? Was that merely a young man's fancy for a pretty girl, engendered
+by friendly companionship? She glances up so quickly that he flushes
+and is half ashamed of speculating upon her.
+
+"It is delightful! Ah, I do not wonder you love this morning hour, when
+beauty reigns supreme, before the toil and moil of the world has begun.
+It stirs one's heart to worship. And yet we, senseless creatures, dance
+through starry midnights in hot rooms, and waste such heavenly hours in
+stupid slumber. Do you wonder that I am tired of it all?"
+
+"Papa, papa!" Cecil comes dancing like a sprite of the morning, and
+clasping his hand, springs upon his knee, burying her face in his
+beard, her soft lips sweet with kisses. Then as if remembering, turns,
+says, "Good morning, madame," with a grave inclination of the head, and
+nestles down on his lap. Madame could strangle her, but she smiles
+sweetly, and speaks with subtle tenderness in which there is a touch of
+longing. Floyd wonders again how it is that Cecil is blind to all this
+attraction.
+
+Then the conversation drops to commonplaces, and the breakfast-bell
+rings. There is so much to do. To-morrow is the wedding morning, and
+the guests will begin to come to-day. Floyd will give up one of his
+rooms and take Cecil. Eugene is in his glory, and is really much more
+master of ceremonies than Floyd can be. There is nothing but flurry and
+excitement, but madame keeps cool as an angel. Mrs. Vandervoort and
+Mrs. Latimer, the bridegroom's sisters, both elegant society women, do
+not in the least shine her down, and are completely captivated by her.
+
+"Of course she must come to Newport, Laura," says Mrs. Vandervoort.
+"She is trained to enjoy just such society. And next winter she will be
+the social success of the city. I delight in American belles," says
+this patriotic woman, who has been at nearly every court in Europe, and
+can still appreciate her own countrywomen, "but they do need judicious
+foreign training."
+
+The wedding morning dawns auspiciously. The house is sweet with
+flowers. Gertrude is roused from her apathy, and looks an interesting
+invalid. Marcia is airy and childish, Madame Lepelletier simply
+magnificent, and the bride extremely handsome in dead white silk and
+tulle, with clusters of natural rosebuds.
+
+Floyd gives the bride away, and, much moved, breathes a prayer for her
+happiness. The vows are said; they come home to an elegant wedding
+breakfast, managed by colored waiters who know their business
+perfectly. There are some friendly, informal neighborhood calls, and
+all is very gay and bright. Eugene, Marcia, and the Brades are going up
+the river with them; Mr. and Mrs. Delancy will travel leisurely through
+Canada and come down to Newport to be Mrs. Vandervoort's guests for the
+remainder of the summer. Madame Lepelletier has some business to
+settle, and will rejoin them as soon as possible.
+
+There is very great confusion afterwards, but by dusk matters get
+pretty well settled in their olden channel. Madame declares it an
+extremely pretty wedding, and praises Laura's self-command, which,
+after all, was largely compounded of perfect satisfaction.
+
+And now there will be a lull, and it shall go hard indeed if Madame
+Lepelletier cannot use some charm to draw this indifferent man towards
+her. She is beginning to hate the child who always rivals her; but
+certainly she can circumvent the little thing when she has all her time
+to herself and can use her eyes for her own advantage.
+
+It seems odd to have such a small, quiet breakfast-table, to see his
+mother in her black gown again, and Gertrude's morning dress tied with
+black ribbons. They all talk rather languidly, when an interruption
+occurs. Briggs brings in a note for Mr. Grandon.
+
+"An old woman brought it," he announces, "and she is waiting outside
+for an answer. She would not come in."
+
+Floyd remarks that it is unsealed. Its contents are brief, but written
+in a fine, irregular hand.
+
+"_Will Mr. Grandon come at once to Mr. St. Vincent, who is ill in
+bed?_"
+
+                     *      *      *      *      *
+
+Grandon rises suddenly and goes out. On the wide step of the porch sits
+the old housekeeper, but she glances up with dark, bright eyes.
+
+"You will come?" she begins, eagerly.
+
+"Yes. When did Mr. St. Vincent return?"
+
+"Last night. He is very ill." Her wrinkled lips quiver and she picks
+nervously at her shawl. "They came to New York, but the journey was too
+much. He has been there two days with no one but the child, my poor
+ma'm'selle."
+
+"Yes. I shall be glad enough to see him. Wait a moment," as she rises.
+"I shall drive over immediately, and it will save you a long walk."
+
+"Oh, no, sir. I can walk."
+
+"You will wait," he says. "Briggs, order the buggy at once. Jane," as
+the girl comes out on the porch, "take good care of Miss Cecil to-day.
+Do not let her annoy any one, for everybody is tired." Then he goes in
+and makes a brief explanation, kisses Cecil, and is off to the waiting
+vehicle, into which he hands the old woman with the politeness he would
+show to a queen.
+
+Madame Lepelletier is extremely annoyed. She has counted on a long,
+idle morning. She has papers for him to overlook, plans to discuss, and
+now she must spend the time alone.
+
+"Is Mr. St. Vincent's complaint serious?" Floyd asks of the quaint
+figure beside him.
+
+A tremor runs over her and the bright eyes fill with tears. "It is his
+heart," she says, with her formal pronunciation. "It has been bad a
+long, long while, but never like this. You see he never rested here,"
+tapping her forehead. "Day and night, day and night, always working and
+studying, and letting his bouillon and tea get cold, and forgetting
+all. I made the house bright and cheerful for ma'm'selle, and I thought
+he might be happy, a little more at rest; but oh, kind Heaven! it is
+not the rest I hoped."
+
+Grandon is quite shocked. St. Vincent's death may complicate matters
+still more. Then he checks his own selfish thought.
+
+"Can I drive in?" he asks.
+
+"Oh, yes, there is a little stable. Master meant to get ma'm'selle a
+pony. Poor girl!"
+
+They both alight. Floyd fastens the horse and follows his guide.
+
+"Monsieur will please walk up stairs,--this way."
+
+The hall is small, square, and dark. He treads upon a rich Smyrna rug
+that is like velvet. The stairs are winding and of some dark wood. A
+door stands open and she waves him thither with her hand. In this very
+room he has watched a student working. Here was the table, as if it had
+only been left yesterday.
+
+He hears voices in the adjoining room and presently the door opens. The
+furniture is dark and antique, brightened by a few rugs and one glowing
+picture of sunset that seems to irradiate the whole apartment. The
+occupant of the bed appears almost in a sitting position, propped up by
+pillows, marble pale, and thin to attenuation. One wasted hand lies
+over the spread, handsome enough for a woman, and not showing the
+thinness as much as the face. The eyes are deeply sunken, but with a
+feverish brightness.
+
+"Mr. Grandon, I thank you most kindly for your quick response. Sit down
+here.--Now you can leave us, Denise. I shall want nothing but my
+drops."
+
+"I am afraid you are hardly able----"
+
+"Mr. Grandon, when a man's life comes to be told off by days, he must
+do his work quickly, not daring to count on any future. I had
+hoped--but we must to business. Come nearer. Sit there in the light.
+No, you are not much like your father, and yet totally unlike your
+brother. I think I can trust you. I must, for there is nothing left,
+nothing!"
+
+"You can trust me," Floyd Grandon says, in a tone that at once
+establishes confidence.
+
+"And one could trust your father to the uttermost. If he had but
+lived!"
+
+"No one regrets that more bitterly than I, and I thank you for the
+kindly praise."
+
+"A good man, a just man. And now he has left all to you, and it is a
+strange, tangled mass. I meant to help, but alas, I shall soon be
+beyond help." And the brow knits itself in anxious lines, while the
+eyes question with a vague fear.
+
+"If you could explain a little of the trouble. I am no mechanic, and
+yet I have dabbled into scientific matters. But you are too ill."
+
+A spasm passes over his face, leaving it blue and pinched, and St.
+Vincent makes a gasp for breath.
+
+"No. I shall never be better. Do not be alarmed, that was only a
+trifle. You have seen Wilmarth, and he has told you; but the thing is
+_not_ a failure, it cannot be! There were some slight miscalculations
+which I have remedied. If I could find some one to whom I could explain
+my plans----"
+
+"I know a man. I have had him at the factory and he would be glad to
+see you. He does not quite understand, but he believes it can be made a
+success. Wilmarth seems doubtful and strange in some ways----"
+
+"He is working against me,--no need to tell me that! But why?" And the
+eager eyes study Grandon painfully. "There is some plan in the man's
+brain. He came to Canada. Do you know what for?"
+
+Grandon looks up in surprise.
+
+"I was amazed. The man may have a better heart or more faith than I
+credit him with. He was so different in your father's time. It is as if
+some project or temptation had seized him." Then, after a pause, "He
+asked my daughter in marriage."
+
+"I thought she was--a child," says Grandon, in amaze.
+
+"So she is. In my country, Mr. Grandon, they manage their daughters
+differently; not always better, perhaps, but they do not leave them
+unprotected to the world, to beg their bit of bread, maybe. I have put
+everything in my invention. It is her dowry."
+
+"And he wished to be the sole master of it?"
+
+"Exactly. She saw him once." And a bitter smile wreaths the deathly
+face.
+
+"And she does not like him! How could any woman?" Floyd Grandon gives a
+shiver of disgust.
+
+"I have not told her. Yet a man cannot leave a young girl to make a
+tiger's fight with the world! She, poor lamb, would soon be rent in
+pieces."
+
+"Leave her to my care," says Floyd Grandon. "I have a mother and
+sisters, and a little girl of my own whom I love as my life. Let me
+take her and do the best I can with her fortune."
+
+"You are very kind. There is one other way. Is your brother at home?"
+
+"He went away yesterday." Floyd almost guesses at what will follow.
+
+"I have a proposal to make. Let him marry my daughter. You are head of
+the house now, and have the welfare of your family at heart. She is
+sweet, accomplished, pretty. He will listen to you, and you see it will
+be to his interest. You can fight Wilmarth then; you will have the best
+in your own hands."
+
+Floyd Grandon sits in stupid amaze. It might be for Eugene's interest,
+but the young man would never consent. And a mere business marriage
+without love--no, he cannot approve.
+
+"This surprises you, no doubt. When I reached New York I was very ill
+again. I made the physician tell me the truth. I cannot live a month; I
+may die any day, but it would be horrible to leave my child to battle
+with poverty, unsuccess. If he was to make a fortune he might go into
+it with a better heart, you know. And your brother is so young. He
+would be good to her. Not that I fancy Jasper Wilmarth could be cruel
+to a pretty young girl who would bring him a fortune."
+
+Floyd Grandon rises and begins to pace the floor. Then he stops as
+suddenly. "Pardon me, I annoy you, but----"
+
+"You think it all strange. It is not your way of doing things. When I
+saw the young girl I made my wife, I had no word for her delicate ear
+until her parents had consented and betrothed her. And I loved her--God
+only knows how dearly. She died in my arms, loath to go. But your young
+people, they love to-day and marry with no consultation, they quarrel
+and are divorced. Is it any better?"
+
+"No," Floyd Grandon answers honestly. "But--I do not know my brother's
+views----"
+
+"You will write to him. You will explain. Your father, it is said, left
+all things in your hands. He had confidence, trust. I trust you as
+well."
+
+"I will do the best I can, and we may find some other way if this
+fails."
+
+"And you spoke of some person----"
+
+"My lawyer found a young man, a foreigner, Lindmeyer by name. He seems
+very ingenious. If you will let me bring him?"
+
+"I shall be most glad."
+
+Even as he speaks he throws up his arms with a sudden gasp and motions
+to the bell. Denise answers the summons. Her master has fainted, and
+after some moments she restores him.
+
+"I have talked too long," exclaims Grandon, remorsefully.
+
+"No. Some one must know all this before I can die at peace. Find your
+man and bring him here. And if you should see Wilmarth, do not mention
+that I have returned. I must have some quiet. Thank you again for
+coming. And may I hope to see you to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes," answers Floyd, taking the feeble hand. Then he turns to the
+door, bids the old housekeeper good day, and finds his way out alone,
+with a strange feeling, as if he were taking a part in a play, almost a
+tragedy.
+
+He drives straight to Connery and learns that Lindmeyer's address is
+New York. He will not wait for a letter to reach him, and just pausing
+at the stable to take in Briggs, goes at once to the station.
+
+It is a long, bothersome quest. The young man does not come home at
+noon, so he waits awhile and then sets off in search of him, making two
+calls just after he has left the places, but at last success crowns his
+efforts. But Lindmeyer cannot come up the next day. There is an expert
+trial of some machinery for which he is engaged at ten. It may take two
+or three hours, it may hold him all day.
+
+"Come back with me, then," says Floyd. "You can go over a little this
+evening, and keep it in your mind, then you can return when you are
+through. I want the matter settled, and the man's life hangs on a mere
+thread."
+
+Lindmeyer consents, and they travel up together. The day is at its
+close as they reach the little nest on the cliffs, but Denise gives
+Grandon a more than friendly welcome.
+
+"He is better," she says. "He will be so glad. Go right up to him."
+
+He does not look better, but his voice is stronger. "And I had such a
+nice sleep this afternoon," he says. "I feel quite like a new being,
+and able to entertain your friend. How good you are to a dying man, Mr.
+Grandon."
+
+Quite in the evening Floyd leaves them together and returns home. Cecil
+has cried herself to sleep in the vain effort to keep awake. Madame
+Lepelletier assumes her most beguiling smile, and counts on an hour or
+two, but he excuses himself briefly. The letter to Eugene must be
+written this evening, though he knows as well what the result will be
+as if he held the answer in his hand.
+
+A little later he lights a cigar and muses over the young girl whose
+fate has thus strangely been placed in his hands. He is not anxious to
+marry her to Eugene; but, oh, the horrible sacrifice of such a man as
+Wilmarth! No, it shall not be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+Love is forever and divinely new.--MONTGOMERY.
+
+
+Floyd Grandon, who always sleeps the sleep of the just, or the
+traveller who learns to sleep under all circumstances, is restless and
+tormented with vague dreams. Some danger or vexation seems to menace
+him continually. He rises unrefreshed, and Cecil holds a dainty baby
+grudge against him for his neglect of yesterday, and makes herself
+undeniably tormenting, until she is sent away in disgrace.
+
+Madame Lepelletier rather rejoices in this sign. "You are not always to
+rule him, little lady," she thinks in her inmost soul. He explains
+briefly to his mother that Mr. St. Vincent is very ill, and that urgent
+business demands his attention, and is off again.
+
+Somehow he fears Lindmeyer's verdict very much. If there should be some
+mistake, some weak point, the result must be failure for all concerned.
+Would Wilmarth still desire to marry Miss St. Vincent? he wonders.
+
+Denise receives him with a smile in her bright eyes.
+
+"He is very comfortable," she says, and Grandon takes heart.
+
+Lindmeyer is waiting for him. His rather intense face is hopeful; and
+Grandon's spirits go up.
+
+"The thing _must_ be a success," he says. "Mr. St. Vincent has
+explained two or three little mistakes, or miscalculations, rather, and
+given me his ideas. I wish I had time to take it up thoroughly. But I
+have to leave town for several days. Could you wait, think? I am coming
+again to-night. What a pity such a brain must go back to ashes! He is
+not an old man, either, but he has worn hard on himself. There, my time
+is up," glancing at his watch.
+
+Mr. St. Vincent receives Mr. Grandon with evident pleasure, but it
+seems as if he looks thinner and paler than yesterday. There is a
+feverish eagerness in his eyes, a tremulousness in his voice. The
+doctor is to be up presently, and Grandon is persuaded to wait. After
+the first rejoicing is over, Grandon will not allow him to talk
+business, but taking up Goethe reads to him. The tense, worn face
+softens. Now and then he drops into a little doze. He puts his hand out
+to Grandon with a grateful smile, and so the two sit until nearly noon,
+when the doctor comes.
+
+Floyd follows him down-stairs.
+
+"Don't ask me to reconsider my verdict," he says, in answer to the
+other's look. "The issues of life and death are _not_ in our hands. If
+you really understood his state, you would wonder that he is still
+alive. Keep all bad tidings from him," the doctor adds rather louder to
+Denise. "Tell him pleasurable things only; keep him cheerful. It cannot
+be for very long. And watch him well."
+
+"Where is Miss St. Vincent?" asks Grandon, with a very pardonable
+curiosity.
+
+"She has gone out. He will have it so. She does not dream the end is so
+near." And Denise wipes her old eyes. "Mr. Grandon, is it possible that
+dreadful man must marry her?"
+
+"Oh, I hope not!"
+
+"He is very determined. And ma'm'selle has been brought up to obey, not
+like your American girls. If her father asked her to go through fire,
+she would, for his sake. And in a convent they train girls to marry and
+to respect their husbands, not to dream about gay young lovers. But my
+poor lamb! to be given to such a man, and she so young!"
+
+"No, do not think of it," Grandon says, huskily.
+
+"You shall see her this evening, sir, if you will come. I will speak to
+master."
+
+Grandon goes on to the factory. Wilmarth is away, and he rambles
+through the place, questioning the workmen. There are some complaints.
+The wool is not as good as it was formerly, and the new machinery
+bothers. The foreman does not seem to understand it, and is quite sure
+it is a failure. Mr. Wilmarth has no confidence in it, he says.
+
+Then Grandon makes a thorough inspection of some old books. They
+certainly _did_ make money in his father's time, but expenses of late
+have been much larger. Why are they piling up goods in the warehouse
+and not trying to sell? It seems to him as if there was no real head to
+the business. Can it be that he must take this place and push matters
+through to a successful conclusion? It seems to him that he could
+really do better than has been done for the last six months.
+
+It is mid-afternoon when he starts homeward. He will take the old
+rambling path and rest his weary brain a little before he presents
+himself to madame. She has a right to feel quite neglected, and yet how
+can he play amiable with all this on his mind? He wipes his brow, and
+sits down on a mossy rock, glancing over opposite. Did any one ever
+paint such light and shade, such an atmosphere? How still the trees
+are! There is not a breath of air, the river floats lazily, undisturbed
+by a ripple. There is a little boat over in the shade, and the man who
+was fishing has fallen asleep.
+
+Hark! There is a sudden cry and a splash. Has some one fallen in the
+river, or is it boys on a bathing frolic? He leans over the edge of the
+cliff, where he can command a sight of the river, but there is nothing
+save one eddy on the shore where no one could drown. And yet there are
+voices, a sound of distress, it seems to him, so he begins to scramble
+down. A craggy point jutting out shuts off the view of a little cove,
+and he turns his steps thitherward. Just as he gains the point he
+catches sight of a figure threading its way up among the rocks.
+
+"Keep perfectly still." The wind wafts the sound up to him, and there
+is something in the fresh young voice that attracts him. "I am coming.
+Don't stir or you will fall again. Wait, wait, wait!" She almost sings
+the last words with a lingering cadence.
+
+He is coming so much nearer that he understands her emprise. A child
+has fallen and has slipped a little way down the bank, where a slender
+birch sapling has caught her, and she is quite wedged in. The tree
+sways and bends, the child begins to cry. The roots surely are giving
+way, and if the child should fall again she will go over the rocks,
+down on the stony shore. Floyd Grandon watches in a spell-bound way,
+coming nearer, and suddenly realizes that the tree will give way before
+he can reach her. But the girl climbs up from rock to rock, until she
+is almost underneath, then stretches out her arms.
+
+"I shall pull you down here," she says. "There is a place to stand. Let
+go of everything and come."
+
+The tree itself lets go, but it still forms a sort of bridge, over
+which the child comes down, caught in the other's arms. She utters a
+little shriek, but she is quite safe. Her hat has fallen off, and goes
+tumbling over the rocks. He catches a glint of fair hair, of a sweet
+face he knows so well, and his heart for a moment stops its wonted
+beating.
+
+He strides over to them as if on the wings of the wind. They go down a
+little way, when they pause for strength. Cecil is crying now.
+
+"Cecil," he cries in a sharp tone,--"Cecil, how came you here?"
+
+Cecil buries her face in her companion's dress and clings passionately
+to her. The girl, who is not Jane, covers her with a defiant impulse of
+protection, and confronts the intruder with a brave, proud face of
+gypsy brilliance, warm, subtile, flushing, spirited, as if she
+questioned his right to so much as look at the child.
+
+"Cecil, answer me! How came you here?" The tone of authority is
+deepened by the horrible fear speeding through his veins of what might
+have happened.
+
+"You shall not scold her!" She looks like some wild, shy animal
+protecting its young, as she waves him away imperiously with her little
+hand. "How could she know that the treacherous top of the cliff would
+give way? She was a good, obedient child to do just what I told her,
+and it saved her. See how her pretty hands are all scratched, and her
+arm is bleeding."
+
+He kneels at the feet of his child's brave savior, and clasps his arms
+around Cecil. "My darling," and there is almost a sob in his voice, "my
+little darling, do not be afraid. Look at papa. He is so glad to find
+you safe."
+
+"Is she your child,--your little girl?" And the other peers into his
+face with incredulous curiosity.
+
+Cecil answers by throwing herself into his arms.
+
+"She is my one treasure in this world," Floyd Grandon exclaims with
+deep fervor.
+
+He holds her very tight. She is sobbing hysterically now, but he kisses
+her with such passionate tenderness, that though her heart still beats
+with terror, she is not afraid of his anger.
+
+The young girl stands in wondering amaze, her velvety brown eyes
+lustrous with emotion. Lithe, graceful, with a supple strength in every
+rounded limb, in the slightly compressed red lips, the broad, dimpled
+chin, and the straight, resolute brows. The quaint gray costume,
+nun-like in its plainness, cannot make a nun of her.
+
+"You have saved my child!" and there is a great tremble in his voice.
+"I do not know how to thank you. I never can."
+
+The statue moves a little, and the red lips swell, quiver, and yet she
+does not speak.
+
+"I saw you from the cliff. I hardly know how you had the self-command,
+the forethought to do it."
+
+"You will not scold her!" she entreats.
+
+"My darling, no. For your sake, not a word shall be said."
+
+"But I was naughty!" cries Cecil, in an agony of penitence. "I ran away
+from Jane."
+
+Grandon sits down on the stump of a tree, and takes Cecil on his lap.
+Her little hands are scratched and soiled by the gravel, and her arm
+has quite a wound.
+
+"Oh!" the young girl cries, "will you bring her up to the little
+cottage over yonder? You can just see the pointed roof. It is my home."
+
+"You are Miss St. Vincent?" Grandon exclaims in surprise. He does not
+know quite what he has expected, but she is very different from any
+thought of his concerning her.
+
+"Yes." She utters this with a simple, fearless dignity that would do
+credit to a woman of fashion. "Her hands had better be washed and her
+arm wrapped up. They will feel more comfortable."
+
+"Thank you." Then he rises with Cecil in his arms, and makes a gesture
+to Miss St. Vincent, who settles her wide-brimmed hat that has slipped
+back, and goes on as a leader. She is so light, supple, and graceful!
+Her plain, loosely fitting dress allows the slim figure the utmost
+freedom. She is really taller than she looks, though she would be
+petite beside his sisters. Her foot and ankle are perfect, and the
+springy step is light as a fawn's.
+
+This, then, is the girl whose future they have been discussing, whose
+hand has been disposed of in marriage as arbitrarily as if she were a
+princess of royal blood. If Eugene only _would_ marry her! Fortune
+seems quite sure now, and he is not the man ever to work for it. It
+must come to him.
+
+Once or twice Miss St. Vincent looks back, blushing brightly. She has a
+natural soft pink in her cheeks that seems like the heart of a rose,
+and the blush deepens the exquisite tint. They enter the shaded path,
+and she goes around to the side porch, where the boards have been
+scrubbed white as snow.
+
+"O Denise," she exclaims, "will you get a basin of water and some old
+linen? This little girl has fallen and scratched her arms badly." Then,
+with a sudden accession of memory, she continues, "I believe it is the
+gentleman who has been to see papa."
+
+"Mr. Grandon!" Denise says in amaze.
+
+"Yes. Your young mistress has saved my little girl from what might have
+been a sad accident." And he stands Cecil on the speckless floor.
+
+Miss St. Vincent throws off her hat. Denise brings some water in a
+small, old silver basin, and rummages for the linen. Grandon turns up
+the sleeve of his daughter's dress, and now Cecil begins to cry and
+shrink away from Denise.
+
+"Let me," says the young girl, with that unconscious self-possession so
+becoming to her, and yet so far removed from boldness. "Now you are
+going to be very brave," she says to the child. "You know how you held
+on by the tree and did just as I told you, and now, after your hands
+are washed, they will feel so much better. It will hurt only a little,
+and you will be white and clean again."
+
+She proceeds with her work as she talks. Cecil winces a little, and her
+eyes overflow with tears, but beyond an occasional convulsive sob she
+does not give way. The arm is bandaged with some cooling lotion, and
+Denise brings her mistress a little cream to anoint the scratched
+hands. Floyd Grandon has been watching the deft motions of the soft,
+swift fingers, that make a sort of dazzle of dimples. It certainly is a
+lovely hand.
+
+"Now, does it not feel nice?" Then she washes the tears from the face,
+and wipes it with a soft towel that is like silk. "You were very good
+and brave."
+
+Cecil, moved by some inward emotion, throws her arms around Miss St.
+Vincent's neck and kisses her. From a strange impulse the young girl
+blushes deeply and turns her face away from Grandon.
+
+He has asked after Mr. St. Vincent, who is now asleep. He is no worse.
+Denise thinks him better. He has not fainted since morning.
+
+"Cecil," her father says, "will you stay here and let me go home for
+the carriage? I am afraid I cannot carry you quite so far, and I dare
+say Jane is half crazy with alarm."
+
+Cecil looks very much as if she could not consent to the brief
+separation. The young girl glances from one face to the other.
+
+"Yes, you will stay," she answers, with cheerful decision. "Papa will
+soon return for you. Would you mind if I gave her some berries and
+milk?" she asks, rather timidly, of Mr. Grandon.
+
+"Oh, no! I will soon come back." He stoops and kisses Cecil, and makes
+a slight signal to Denise, who follows him.
+
+"She saved my darling from a great peril," he says, with deep emotion,
+"perhaps her very life. What can I do for her?"
+
+"Keep her from that terrible marriage," returns Denise. "She is too
+sweet, too pretty for such an ogre."
+
+"She shall not marry him, whatever comes," he says, decisively.
+
+Walking rapidly homeward, he resolves to write again to Eugene. Miss
+St. Vincent is pretty, winsome, refined, spirited, too; quite capable
+of matching Eugene in dignity or pride, which would be so much the
+better. She is no "meke mayd" to be ground into a spiritless slave.
+They would have youth, beauty, wealth, be well dowered. He feels as
+anxious now as he has been disinclined before. A strange interest
+pervades him, and the rescue of the child brings her so near; it seems
+as if he could clasp her to his heart as an elder daughter or a little
+sister.
+
+He meets Briggs on horseback, a short distance from the house. "O Mr.
+Grandon," the man exclaims, "the maid has just come in and Miss Cecil
+is lost!"
+
+"Miss Cecil is safe. Get me the buggy at once. She is all right," as
+the man looks bewildered.
+
+Just at the gate he meets the weeping and alarmed Jane and sends her
+back with a few words of comfort. The house is in a great commotion,
+which he quiets as speedily as possible. When Mrs. Grandon finds there
+is no real danger, she turns upon Floyd.
+
+"You spoil the child with your foolish indulgence," she declares. "She
+pays no attention to any one, she does not even obey Jane."
+
+Grandon cannot pause to argue, for the wagon comes around. He is in no
+mood, either. He cannot tell why, but he feels intuitively that Miss
+St. Vincent is quite different from the women in his family.
+
+He finds everything quite delightful at the eyrie. Cecil and Miss
+Violet have made fast friends, and Duke, the greyhound, looks on
+approvingly, though with an amusing tint of jealousy. The child has
+forgotten her wounds, has had some berries, cake, and milk, and is
+chattering wonderfully.
+
+"What magic have you used?" asks Grandon in surprise.
+
+Miss St. Vincent laughs. She hardly looks a day over fifteen, though
+she is two years older.
+
+"Will you not let her come for a whole day?" she entreats. "I get so
+lonesome. I can only see papa a little while, and he cannot talk to me.
+I get tired of reading and rambling about, and Denise is worried when I
+stay out any length of time."
+
+"Yes, if you can persuade her," and Grandon smiles down into the
+bright, eager face. "In England she was with a family of children, and
+she misses them."
+
+"Oh, are you English?" Violet asks, with a naive curiosity.
+
+"My little girl was born there, but I always lived here until I went
+abroad, ten years ago."
+
+"And I was born in France," she says, with a bright, piquant smile,
+"though that doesn't make me quite thoroughly French." Then, as by this
+time they have reached Cecil, she kneels down and puts her arm around
+her. "He says you may come for a whole long day. We will have tea out
+on the porch, and you shall play with my pretty china dishes and my
+great doll, and when you are tired we will swing in the hammock. Shall
+it be to-morrow?"
+
+"I think she must rest to-morrow," Grandon replies, gravely.
+
+"Oh, but the next day will be Sunday!"
+
+"If she is well enough I will bring her in the morning," he answers,
+indulgently.
+
+Violet kisses her and bundles her up in a white fleecy shawl. The sun
+has gone down and the air has cooled perceptibly. Cecil talks a while
+enthusiastically, as she snuggles close to her father in the wagon;
+then there is a sudden silence. She is so soundly asleep that her
+father carries her up and lays her on her pretty white cot without
+awaking her. Dinner has been kept waiting, and Mrs. Grandon is not in
+an angelic temper, but madame's exquisite suavity smooths over the
+rough places. Floyd feels extremely obliged for this little attention.
+He makes no demur when she claims him for the evening, and discusses
+the future, _her_ future, with him. To-morrow she must go to the city.
+
+"I have an errand down, too," he says, "and can introduce you at a
+banking house. They could tell you better about investments than I."
+
+She is delighted with the result of the evening, and fancies that he is
+beginning to find the child something of a bore. It was a pretty
+plaything at first, but it can be naughty and troublesome. Ah, Madame
+Lepelletier, fascinating as you are, if you could see how his thoughts
+have been wandering, and witness the passion with which he kisses his
+sleeping child and caresses the bandaged arm, you would not be quite so
+certain of your triumph.
+
+He does not write to Eugene, it is so late, and he has a curious
+disinclination. By this time he has surely decided. A letter may come
+to-morrow, and it may be better to wait until he hears.
+
+When he wakes in the morning, Cecil is entertaining Jane with a history
+of her adventures wherein all things are mingled.
+
+"A doll!" exclaims Jane. "Why, is she a little girl?"
+
+"She isn't _very_ big," says Cecil; "not like Aunt Gertrude or madame;
+and the most beautiful dishes that came from Paris! That's where madame
+was. And she laughs so and makes such dimples in her face, such sweet
+dimples,--just a little place where I could put my finger, and she let
+me. It was so soft and pink," with a lingering cadence. "I like her
+next best to papa."
+
+"And you've only seen her once!" says Jane, reproachfully.
+
+"But--she kept me from falling on the rocks, you know. I might have
+been hurt ever so much more; why maybe I might have been killed!"
+
+"You were a naughty little girl to run away," interpolates Jane, with
+some severity.
+
+"I shall never run away again, Jane," Cecil promises, with solemnity.
+"But I didn't mean to slip. Something spilled out below and the tree
+went down, and Miss Violet was there. Maybe I should not have found her
+if I hadn't fallen."
+
+"Is she pretty?" inquires Jane.
+
+"Oh, she is beautiful! ever so much handsomer than madame."
+
+"I don't think any one can be handsomer than madame," says Jane.
+
+"Now I can go to papa." And Cecil opens his door softly. "O papa, my
+hair is all curled," she cries, eagerly, "and----"
+
+Has he a rival already in the child's heart? the child so hard to win!
+A curious pang pierces him for a moment. If Miss St. Vincent can gain
+hearts so easily, Eugene had better see her, he decides.
+
+The affair is talked of somewhat at the breakfast-table. Floyd Grandon
+takes it quietly. Mrs. Grandon reads Cecil a rather sharp lecture, and
+the child relapses into silence. Madame Lepelletier considers it
+injudicious to make a heroine of Cecil, and seconds her father's
+efforts to pass lightly over it. A girl who plays with a doll need fill
+no one with anxiety.
+
+So Mr. Grandon drives his little daughter over to the eyrie just in
+time to catch Lindmeyer, who is still positive and deeply interested.
+
+"I shall get back as soon as I can next week," he says, "and then I
+want to go in the factory at once. I shall be tremendously mistaken if
+I do not make it work."
+
+There is a curious touch of shyness about Violet this morning that is
+enchanting. She carries off Cecil at once. There sits the lovely doll
+in a rocking-chair, and a trunk of elegant clothes that would win any
+little girl's heart. Cecil utters an exclamation of joy.
+
+Mr. St. Vincent is very feeble, yet the fire of enthusiasm burns in his
+eyes.
+
+"You have the right man," he says, in a tremulous voice that certainly
+has lost strength since yesterday; "if he was not compelled to go away;
+but he has promised to hurry back."
+
+Grandon chats as long as his time will allow, then he goes to say good
+by to Cecil.
+
+"You think you will not tire of her?" and he questions the bright, soft
+eyes, the blooming, eager face.
+
+"Oh, no, indeed!"
+
+"Then I will come this evening. Oh," with intense feeling, "you must
+know, you do know, how grateful I am!"
+
+Her eyes are full of tears, then she smiles. What a bewitching, radiant
+face! He is quite sure it would capture Eugene, and he resolves to
+write at once.
+
+"God must have sent you there," he says; then, obeying a strong
+impulse, he kisses the white, warm brow, while she bends her head
+reverently.
+
+It is a busy and not an unpleasant day to Floyd Grandon. Minton & Co.,
+the bankers, greet him quite like an old friend, though they find him
+much changed, and are most courteous to Madame Lepelletier; extremely
+pleased with so rich and elegant a client, believing they see in her
+the future Mrs. Grandon. There is a dinner at a hotel, a little
+shopping, and the delightful day is gone. She has had him all to
+herself, though now and then he has lapsed into abstraction, but there
+is enough with all the perplexing business to render him a trifle
+grave.
+
+She is due at Newport next week. She is almost sorry that it is so
+soon, but if he _should_ miss her,--and then he has promised a few days
+as soon as he can get away. If that tiresome St. Vincent would only die
+and be done with it! If he was not mixed up with all these family
+affairs,--but they will be settled by midwinter. He is not thinking of
+marriage for himself, that she can plainly see, and it makes her cause
+all the more secure. She feels, sitting beside him in the palace car,
+quite as if she had the sole claim, and she really loves him, needs
+him. It is different from any feeling of mere admiration, though he is
+a man of whom any woman might be justly proud. She has learned a little
+of his own aims to-day: he is to make a literary venture presently that
+will give him an undeniable position.
+
+But the child is the Mordecai at the gate. He must go for her, so he
+merely picks up the mail that has come and steps back into the
+carriage. If she could have dared a little more and gone with him, but
+Floyd Grandon is the kind of man with whom liberties are not easily
+taken. And perhaps she has won enough for one day. Sometimes in
+attempting too much one loses all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+For I have given you here a thread of mine own life.--SHAKESPEARE.
+
+
+Floyd Grandon leans back in the carriage and opens Eugene's letter.
+
+"What idiotic stuff have you in your head? Do you think me a baby in
+leading-strings, or a fool? You may work at that invention until the
+day of doom, and have fifty experts, and I'll back Wilmarth against you
+all. He has been trying it for the last six months, and he's shrewd,
+long-headed, something of a genius himself, and he says it never can
+succeed, that is, to make money. I am not in the market for matrimonial
+speculations, thank you, they are rather too Frenchy and quite too
+great a risk where the fortune is not sure. To think of tying one's
+self to a little fool brought up in a convent! No, no, no! There, you
+have my answer. The whole thing may go to the everlasting smash first!"
+
+Grandon folds it very deliberately and puts it in his pocket. The other
+notes are not important; he merely glances them over. Will Eugene
+relent when he receives the second appeal? He is not _quite_ sure. But
+he has done a brother's full duty, and he is honestly sorry that he has
+failed.
+
+Coming round the walk he sees Cecil in the hammock, and Violet is
+telling her a fairy story. The doll lies on her arm, and her eyes are
+half closed. It is such a lovely picture of content, home happiness,
+that he hates to break in upon it.
+
+"Oh, here is your papa!" cries Violet, who seems to have felt the
+approach rather than seen it.
+
+"O papa!" There is a long, delightsome kiss, then Cecil sits up
+straight, her face full of momentous import. "Papa," she says, "why
+can't we come here to live? I like it so much better than at
+grandmamma's house. Miss Violet tells prettier stories than Jane, and
+Denise is so good to me. She made me a little pie."
+
+Violet gives an embarrassed laugh. "I really have not been putting
+treason into her head," she says, and then she retreats ignominiously
+to the kitchen.
+
+Denise comes forward with an anxious face.
+
+"The master wishes to see you. Mr. Wilmarth has been here," she adds.
+
+Grandon goes up to the sick-room. Mr. St. Vincent is in a high state of
+excitement. Mr. Wilmarth has renewed his offer of marriage; nay,
+strongly insisted upon it, and hinted at some mysterious power that
+could work much harm if he chose to go out of the business.
+
+"If your friend could have stayed until we were quite certain," St.
+Vincent says, weakly. "I am so torn and distracted! My poor, poor
+child! Have you heard from your brother?"
+
+"I shall hear on Monday," Grandon replies, evasively.
+
+"And if I cannot live until then?" The eyes are wild, eager; the
+complexion is of a gray pallor.
+
+"Whatever happens, I will care for Violet," the visitor says, solemnly.
+"Trust her to me. She saved my little child yesterday, and I owe her a
+large debt of gratitude. I will be a father to her."
+
+"Mr. Grandon, you are still too young, and--how did she save your
+child?" he asks, suddenly.
+
+Grandon repeats the rescue, and if he makes Violet more of a heroine
+than madame would approve, it is a pardonable sin.
+
+"My brave little girl! My brave little girl!" he exclaims, with
+tremulous delight. Then the eyes of the two men meet in a long glance.
+A wordless question is asked, a subtile understanding is vouchsafed.
+Floyd Grandon is amazed, and a curious thrill speeds through every
+pulse. He is too young for any fatherly relation, and yet--
+
+"It is but fair to wait until Monday," he replies, with a strange
+hesitation. "And you must calm yourself."
+
+"But nothing is done," St. Vincent cries, with gasping eagerness. "I
+have lain here dreaming, hoping. I never shall be any better! It is
+coming with a swift pace, and my darling will be left alone; my sweet,
+innocent Violet, who knows nothing of the world, who has not an aunt or
+cousin, no one but poor old Denise."
+
+"Trust to me, command me as you would a son," says the firm, reassuring
+voice. "And, oh, I beseech you, calm yourself! It will all be well with
+her."
+
+A change passes over the face. The hands are stretched out, there is a
+gasp; is he really dying? Denise is summoned.
+
+"Oh, my poor master! Mr. Grandon, that man must not see him again! He
+will kill him! It was so when he came to Canada. He wants all that my
+poor master has, and the child, but it is like putting her in the
+clutch of a tiger!"
+
+"Do not think of it, Denise; it will never be," and a shudder of
+disgust runs over him.
+
+They bring Mr. St. Vincent back to consciousness, but he lies
+motionless, with his eyes half closed.
+
+"Was there much talking?" Floyd asks.
+
+"He seemed to get very angry." Then she comes nearer and says in a
+whisper, "He is no true friend to you, if he is fair to your face. He
+said that in six months you would ruin everything, and there would not
+be a penny left for Miss Violet. He spoke ill of your brother. I am not
+one to carry tales or make trouble, but----" And she wipes her furrowed
+face.
+
+"I understand."
+
+They sit and watch him, Grandon holding the feeble wrist. It will not
+be safe to leave him alone to-night, to leave _them_. There is a duty
+here he cannot evade.
+
+"I will take my little girl home," he says, presently, "and then I will
+come back and remain all night. Was the doctor here to-day?"
+
+"Yes. He seemed better then. He was better until--You are a very good
+friend," she goes on, abruptly. "It is a trusty face--an honest
+voice----"
+
+"You _can_ trust me," he says, much moved. He goes softly down the
+stairs, and with a few words to Cecil persuades her to leave this
+enchanted realm. Violet kisses her fondly and clings to her; they have
+had such a happy day, there has not been a lonely moment in it. The
+wistful face haunts Grandon through the homeward ride, and he hardly
+hears Cecil's prattle.
+
+He makes a brief explanation to his mother and leaves excuses for
+madame, who is lying down in order to be fresh and enchanting for
+evening. His orders for Jane are rather more lengthy, and she is to
+comfort Cecil if he should not be home for breakfast.
+
+He has a simple supper in the little nest among the cliffs. Violet
+pours the tea with a serene unconsciousness. She is nothing but a
+child. Her life and education have been so by rule, emotions repressed,
+bits of character trimmed and trained, though they have not taken all
+out, he is sure. She is very proper and precise now, a little afraid
+she shall blunder somewhere, and with a rare delicacy will not mention
+the child, lest its father should think she has coaxed it from some
+duty or love. He almost smiles to himself as he speculates upon her.
+Once there was just such another,--no, the other was unlike her in all
+but youth and beauty, with a hundred coquettish ways where this one is
+honest, simple, and sincere. Could _she_ have served a table gravely
+like this, and made no vain use of lovely eyes or dimpled mouth?
+
+He goes up-stairs and takes his place as a watcher. There is nothing to
+do but administer a few drops of medicine every half-hour. The evening
+is warm and he sits by the open window, trying _not_ to think, telling
+himself that in honor he has no right to for the next forty hours, and
+then the decision must come. He could fight her battle so much better
+if--if he had the one right, but does he want it? He has counted on
+many other things in his life. For his dead father's sake he is willing
+to make some sacrifice, but why should this come to him?
+
+The stars shine out in the wide blue heavens, the wind whispers softly
+among the leaves, the water ripples in the distance. The mysterious
+noises of night grow shriller for a while, then fainter, until at
+midnight there is scarcely a sound. How strangely solemn to sit here by
+this lapsing soul, that but a little while ago was the veriest stranger
+to him! He has sent Denise to bed, Violet is sleeping with childhood's
+ease and unconsciousness. A week hence and everything will be changed
+for her; she will never be a child again.
+
+There is a pale bit of moon towards morning, then faint streaks raying
+up in the east, and sounds of life once more. A sacred Sunday morning.
+He feels unusually reverent and grave, and breathes a prayer. He wants
+guidance so much, and yet--does one pray about secular affairs? he
+wonders.
+
+Denise taps lightly at the door. She looks refreshed, but the awe will
+not soon go out of her old face. Mr. St. Vincent has rested quietly,
+his pulse is no weaker; how could it be to live? He stirs and opens his
+eyes. They feed him some broth and a little wine, and he drops off
+drowsily again.
+
+"You are so good," says the grateful old creature, who studies him with
+wistful eyes. Has she any unspoken hope?
+
+While she waits he goes down to stretch his cramped limbs. The doctor
+can do no good and will not come to-day. There is no one else to call
+upon. He must stay; it would be brutal to leave them alone.
+
+Denise has a lovely little breakfast spread for him, but Violet is not
+present. Denise, too, has her Old World ideas. He goes up again to the
+invalid, and after an hour or two walks down home. His mother and
+madame are at church, as he supposed they would be. He talks a little
+to Gertrude, who is nervous and shocked at the thought of any one
+dying, and wonders if it can make any difference to the business. He
+takes a walk with Cecil, who coaxes to go back with him to her dear
+Miss Violet, but he convinces her that it cannot be to-day; to-morrow,
+perhaps.
+
+He walks back, rambling down to the spot where Cecil came so near
+destruction. The land-slide is clearly visible, the young tree, torn up
+by the roots, is a ghost, with brown, withered leaves, and there are
+the jagged rocks going steeply down to the shore. If no hand had been
+there to save! If no steady foot had dared climb from point to point!
+He wonders now how she did it! It seems a greater miracle than before.
+And how strange that Cecil should evince such an unwonted partiality
+for Miss St. Vincent! Does it all point one way to a certain ending?
+
+It is well that Floyd Grandon has taken this path. He goes up through
+the garden and hears a voice at the hall door.
+
+"You cannot see him," Denise is saying. "He is scarcely conscious, and
+cannot be disturbed. Your call of yesterday made him much worse."
+
+"But I must see him, my good woman!" in an imperative tone. "If he is
+going to die, it is so much the more necessary."
+
+"It is Sunday," she replies. "You can talk no business, you can do him
+no good."
+
+"Who is here with him?"
+
+"No one," she answers, "but his daughter and myself. Go away and leave
+us to our quiet. If you must see him, come to-morrow."
+
+He takes out a pencil and writes a rather lengthy message. "Give this
+to him, and to no one else," he says, sharply, turning away with
+evident reluctance.
+
+"Oh!" Denise cries as she espies Mr. Grandon, "if I had known you were
+here; I was afraid he would force his way in."
+
+"I am glad you did not: I shall see that there is some one here all the
+time now."
+
+"He is much better. He has asked for you, and eaten a little."
+
+A white figure like a ghost stands beside them. Every bit of color has
+gone out of the blossom-tinted face, and the eyes look large and
+desperate in their frightened depths.
+
+"What is it?" she says. "Mr. Grandon, Denise, what is it the man said
+about papa? Is he--dying? Oh, it cannot be! Is this why you do not want
+me to see him?"
+
+They start like a couple of conspirators, speechless.
+
+"Oh!" with a wild, piercing cry. "Will he die? And I have just come
+home to stay, to comfort him, to make him happy. Oh, what shall I do?
+To be left all alone! Let me go to him."
+
+Denise catches her in the fond old arms, where she sobs as if her heart
+would break. Grandon turns away, then says brokenly, "I will go up to
+him. Some one must tell him. She ought to be with him."
+
+St. Vincent is awake and quite revived. Grandon touches carefully on
+this little scene, and proposes that Violet shall be allowed in the
+sick-room, since the sad secret has been betrayed.
+
+"Oh, how can I leave her?" he groans, in anguish, "alone, unprotected,
+to fight her way through strife and turmoil, to learn the world's
+coldness and cruelty! or perhaps be made a prey through her very
+innocence that has been so sedulously guarded. Heaven help us both!"
+
+"It will all be right, believe me," says the strong, firm voice. "And
+the shock would be terrible to her if there were no sweet last words to
+remember afterward. Comfort her a little with your dying love."
+
+He signs with his hand. Grandon goes down-stairs again.
+
+"Violet, my child," he says, with a tenderness no one but Cecil has
+ever heard in his voice, "listen to me. You must control your grief a
+little or it will be so much harder for your father. You know the sad
+secret now. Can you comfort him these few days, and trust to God for
+your solace afterward? Nothing can so soothe these hours as a
+daughter's love,--if you can trust yourself not to add to his pangs."
+
+The sobs shake her slender figure as she lies on Denise's sorrowing
+heart. Oh, what can he say to lighten her grief? His inmost soul aches
+for her.
+
+"Violet!" He takes her hand in his.
+
+"I will try," she responds, brokenly. "But he is all I have; all,"
+drearily.
+
+"Do you want to see him?"
+
+She makes an effort to repress her sobs. "Denise," she says, "walk in
+the garden awhile with me. It was so sudden. I shall always shudder at
+the sound of that man's voice, as if he had indeed announced papa's
+death warrant."
+
+If Floyd Grandon had not resolved before, he resolves now. He goes
+back, taking with him the scrap of paper. After reading it, St. Vincent
+hands it to him. The gist of it all is that to-morrow at ten Wilmarth
+will come with a lawyer to sign the contracts he spoke of yesterday,
+and hopes to find Miss Violet prepared.
+
+"There was no agreement," says St. Vincent, feebly. "I cannot give him
+my darling unless she consents. It is not that we love our children
+less, Mr. Grandon, that we endeavor to establish their future, but
+because we know how hard the world is. And of the two, I will trust
+you."
+
+His breath is all gone. Floyd fans him and gives him the drops again.
+
+Half an hour afterward Violet comes into the room, so wan and changed
+that yesterday seems a month ago. It is a scene of heart-breaking
+pathos at first, but she nerves herself and summons all her fortitude.
+It must be so, if she is to stay there.
+
+St. Vincent dozes off again when the passion is a little spent. He
+grows frailer, the skin is waxen white, and the eyes more deeply
+sunken. All that is to be of any avail must be done quickly, if St.
+Vincent is to die in peace as regards his child.
+
+What if he and Cecil were at just this pass! What if he lay dying and
+her future not assured? These people are not kith and kin of his that
+he need feel so anxious, neither are they friends of long standing.
+Then he sees the lithe figure again, stepping from crag to crag,
+holding out its girlish arms, with a brave, undoubting faith, and
+clasping Cecil. Yes, it is through her endeavor that his child is not
+marred and crushed, even if the great question of life is put aside.
+Does he not owe _her_ something?
+
+She raises her head presently. Denise is sitting over by the window,
+Grandon nearer. "Is it true?" she asks, tearless now and sadly
+bewildered, all the pathos of desolation in her young voice,--"is it
+true? He has always been so pale and thin, and how could I dream--oh,
+he _will_ get well again! He was so ill in Canada, you know, Denise?"
+
+And yet she realizes now that he has never recovered since that time.
+How can they answer her? Grandon is moved with infinite pity, yet words
+are utterly futile. Nothing can comfort her with this awful reality
+staring her in the face.
+
+She buries her woe-stricken face in the pillow again. There is a long,
+long silence. Then Denise bethinks herself of some homely household
+duties. It is not right to leave her young mistress alone with this
+gentleman, and yet,--but etiquette is so different here. Ah, if the
+other one was like this, if she could go to such a husband; and
+Denise's old heart swells at the thought of what cannot be, but is
+tempting, nevertheless.
+
+Towards evening Grandon feels that he must return for a brief while.
+St. Vincent has rallied wonderfully again, and the pulse has gained
+strength that is deceptive to all but Grandon.
+
+"I will come back for the night," he says. "You must not be alone any
+more. There ought to be some good woman to call upon."
+
+Denise knows of none save the washerwoman, who will be here Tuesday
+morning, but she is not certain such a body would be either comfort or
+help. "And he could not bear strange faces about him; he is peculiar, I
+think you call it. But it is hardly right to take all your time."
+
+"Do not think of that for a moment," he returns, with hearty sympathy.
+
+At home he finds Cecil asleep. "She was so lonely," explains Jane. "I
+read to her and took her walking, but I never let her go out of my
+sight an instant now," the girl says with a tremble in her voice. "She
+talked of Miss Violet constantly, and her beautiful doll, and the tea
+they had together, but she wouldn't go to madame nor to her Aunt
+Gertrude."
+
+Floyd kisses the sweet rosy mouth, and his first desire is to awaken
+her, but he sits on the side of the bed and thinks if Violet were here
+what happy days the child would have. She is still so near to her own
+childhood; the secret is that so far she has never been considered
+anything but a child. Her womanly life is all to come at its proper
+time. There is everything for her to learn. The selfishness, the
+deceit, the wretched hollowness and satiety of life,--will it ever be
+hers, or is there a spring of perennial freshness in her soul? She
+might as well come here as his ward. In time Eugene might fancy her.
+There would be his mother and the two girls. Why does he shrink a
+little and understand at once that they are not the kind of women to
+train Violet? Better a hundred times honest, old-fashioned, formal
+Denise.
+
+An accident has made dinner an hour late, so he is in abundant time.
+Mrs. Grandon has been dull all day. Laura and Marcia had this excellent
+effect, they kept the mental atmosphere of the house astir, and now it
+is stagnant. She complains of headache.
+
+"Suppose we go to drive," he proposes, and the two ladies agree. Madame
+is in something white and soft, a mass of lace and a marvel of
+fineness. She has the rare art of harmonious adjustment, of being used
+to her clothes. She is never afraid to crumple them, to trail them over
+floors, to _use_ them, and yet she is always dainty, delicate, never
+rough or prodigal. She is superlatively lovely to-night. As she sits in
+the carriage, with just the right poise of languor, just the faint
+tints of enthusiasm that seem a part of twilight, she is a very
+dangerous siren, in that, without the definite purpose being at all
+tangible, she impresses herself upon him with that delicious sense of
+being something that his whole life would be the poorer without. A
+subtile knowledge steals over him that he cannot analyze or define, but
+in his soul he knows this magnificent woman could love him now with a
+passion that would almost sweep the very soul out of him. He has no
+grudge against her that she did not love him before,--it was not her
+time any more than his; neither is he affronted at the French
+marriage,--it was what she desired then. But now she has come to
+something else. Of what use would life be if one had always to keep to
+sweet cake and marmalade? There are fruits and flavors and wines, there
+is knowledge sweet and bitter.
+
+Very little is said. He glances at her now and then, and she reads in
+his face that the tide is coming in. She has seen this questioning
+softness in other eyes. If she could have him an hour or two on the
+porch after their return!
+
+That is the bitter of it. He feels that he has stayed away from sorrow
+too long. His mother makes some fretful comment, she gives him a glance
+that he carries with him in the darkness.
+
+A quiet night follows. The doctor is up in the morning. "Comfortable,"
+he says. "You may as well go on with the anodynes. There will be great
+restlessness at the last, no doubt, unless some mood of excitement
+should carry him off. Three days will be the utmost."
+
+Briggs comes with Mr. Grandon's mail. There is a postal from Eugene,
+who considers the subject unworthy of the compliment of a sealed
+letter.
+
+"No, a thousand times _no_! Bore me no more with the folly!"
+
+Floyd's face burns as he thrusts it in Denise's stove to consume.
+
+"Have you heard?" St. Vincent asks, as he enters the room.
+
+"Yes." The tone acknowledges the rest.
+
+"It is all vain, useless, then! Young people are not trained to pay
+heed to the advice of their elders. My poor, poor Violet!"
+
+The utter despair touches Grandon. He has ceased to fight even for his
+child.
+
+What impulse governs Grandon he cannot tell then or ever. It may be
+pity, sympathy, the knowledge that he can fight Violet's battle, insure
+her prosperity in any case, protect her, and give her happiness, and
+smooth the way for the dying. Of himself he does not think at all,
+strangely enough, and he forgets madame as entirely as if she never
+existed.
+
+"Will you give her to me as my wife?" he asks, in a slow, distinct
+tone. "I am older, graver, and have a child."
+
+The light that overflows the dying eyes is his reward. It is something
+greater than joy; it is trust, relief, satisfaction, gratitude intense
+and heartfelt. Then it slowly changes.
+
+"It is taking an advantage of your generosity," he answers, with a
+voice in which the anguish cannot be hidden. "No, I will not be so
+selfish when you have been all that is manly, a friend since the first
+moment----"
+
+A light tap is heard and the door opens. Violet comes in, dressed in
+clinging white, her eyes heavy, her sweet face filled with awe.
+
+Grandon takes her cold hand in his and leads her to the bed. "Violet,"
+he begins, with unsmiling tenderness, "will you take me for your
+husband, your friend, your protector?"
+
+Violet has been instructed in some of the duties of womanhood. Marriage
+is a holy sacrament to be entered into with her father's consent and
+approval. She looks at him gravely, questioningly.
+
+"I am much older than you, I have many cares and duties to occupy and
+perplex me, and I have a little girl----"
+
+Violet's face blooms with a sudden radiance as she lifts her innocent
+eyes, lovely with hope.
+
+"I like her so much," she says. "I am not very wise, but I could train
+her and take care of her if you would trust me."
+
+He smiles then. "I trust you in that and in all things," he makes
+answer. It is as if he were adopting her.
+
+She carries his hand gravely to her lips without considering the
+propriety. She feels so peaceful, so entirely at rest.
+
+"Heaven will bless you," St. Vincent cries. "It must, it must! Violet,
+all your life long you must honor and obey this man. There are few like
+him."
+
+Grandon kisses the flushed forehead. It is a very simple betrothal. He
+has given away his manhood's freedom without a thought of what it may
+be worth to him, she has signed away her girlhood's soul. Secretly, she
+feels proud of such a master; that is what her training bids her accept
+in him. She is to learn the lessons of honor and obedience. No one has
+ever told her about love, except that it is the natural outcome of the
+other duties.
+
+"I think," Mr. Grandon says, "you must see a lawyer now, and have all
+your business properly attended to. There will be nothing to discuss
+when Mr. Wilmarth comes."
+
+St. Vincent bows feebly. He, Grandon, must go and put these matters in
+train.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+But he who says light does not necessarily say joy.--HUGO.
+
+
+Floyd Grandon strides down the street in a great tumult of thought and
+uncertainty, but positive upon one subject. Every possible chance of
+fortune shall be so tied up to Violet that no enemy can accuse him of
+taking an advantage. Surely he does not need the poor child's money. If
+it is _not_ a success,--and this is the point that decides him,--if the
+hope is swept away, she will have a home and a protector.
+
+His first matrimonial experiment has not left so sweet a flavor in his
+soul that he must hasten to a second draught. He looks at it
+philosophically. Violet is a well-trained child, neither exacting nor
+coquettish. She will have Cecil for an interest, and he must keep his
+time for his own pursuits. He is wiser than in the old days. Violet is
+sweet and fresh, and the child loves her.
+
+Mr. Connery listens to the story in a surprise that he hardly conceals.
+Grandon feels a little touched. "There really was nothing else to do,"
+he cries, "and I like Miss St. Vincent. I'm not the kind of man to be
+wildly in love, but I can respect and admire, for all that. Now choose
+the man you have the greatest confidence in, and he must be a
+trustee,--with you. She is so young, and I think it would be a good
+thing for you two men to take charge of her fortune, if it comes to
+that, until she is at least twenty-five; then she will know what to do
+with it."
+
+Connery ruminates. "Ralph Sherburne is just the man," he exclaims. "He
+is honest and firm to a thread, and keen enough to see through a
+grindstone if you turn fast or slow. Come along."
+
+They are soon closeted in the invalid's room. Floyd insists that they
+shall discuss the first points without him. Violet is walking up and
+down a shady garden path, and he joins her. He would like to take her
+in his arms and kiss and comfort her as he does Cecil, she looks so
+very like a child, but he has a consciousness that it would not be
+proper. He links her arm in his and joins in a promenade, yet they are
+both silent, constrained. Yesterday he was her friend, the father of
+the little girl she loves; to-day he is some one else that she must
+respect and honor.
+
+Wilmarth comes and receives his message with deep vexation. Mr. St.
+Vincent will admit him at three. He is no worse, but there is nothing
+to hope. Ah, if he were to see the two pacing the walk, he would gnash
+his teeth. He fancies he has sown distrust, at least.
+
+By noon the contracts, the will, and all legal papers are drawn and
+signed. Everything is inviolably Miss St. Vincent's. Mr. Connery
+proposes an excellent and trusty nurse, and will send her immediately,
+for Denise and Violet must not be left alone. Grandon turns his steps
+homeward.
+
+"Really I did not know whether you were coming back," says his mother,
+sharply. "I think, considering Madame Lepelletier leaves us to-morrow
+morning, you might have a few hours to devote to your own household. It
+seems to me Mr. St. Vincent lasts a long while for a man at the point
+of death."
+
+"Mother!" Floyd Grandon is really shocked. His mother is nervous and
+ill at ease. All night she has been brooding over what she saw in the
+carriage. Floyd will follow madame to Newport in a week or two, and the
+matter will be settled. She has no objection to her as a daughter-in-law
+if Floyd _must_ marry, but it is bitterly hard to be dethroned, to have
+nothing, to live on sufferance.
+
+He turns away, remembering what he ought to tell her, and yet, how can
+he? After to-morrow, when Madame Lepelletier has really gone,--and yet
+has he any true right to freedom as long as that? He ought to marry
+Violet this very day. Since he has resolved, why not make the
+resolution an absolute pleasure to the dying man?
+
+Grandon feels the position keenly. Never by word or look has he led
+madame to expect any warmer feeling than friendship; indeed, until last
+night he had not supposed any other state possible. He could not
+imagine himself a part of her fashionable life, and he had not the
+vanity to suppose she cared for him, but now he cannot shut his eyes.
+There is something in her tone, in her mien, as she comes to greet him,
+that brings the tint of embarrassment to his cheek. He ought to tell
+her that he belongs to another, but he cannot drag his sad-eyed Violet
+out for her inspection.
+
+"Mr. St. Vincent?" she questions, delicately.
+
+"He can hardly live through another night. There was a great deal of
+business to do this morning, and it has exhausted him completely. It is
+so unfortunate,--his having so few friends here."
+
+"What is to become of his poor child?"
+
+"He has been making arrangements for her. I wish he could have lived a
+month longer, then we would have been quite sure of the success or
+failure of his patent."
+
+Floyd says this in a grave, measured tone.
+
+"There _is_ always a convent," says madame, with a sweet, serious
+smile. "I believe in this country, or at least among Protestants, there
+is no such refuge for young or old in times of trouble."
+
+He does not wish to pursue the subject.
+
+"I am so sorry Eugene is not at home. You go to-morrow?"
+
+There is not the slightest inhospitable inflection to this, but if he
+had said, "Why do you go?" or "You had better wait," her heart would
+have throbbed with pleasure. One could announce a delay so easily by
+telegram.
+
+"I meant to see you started on your journey," he begins, and there is a
+curious something in his tone. "Briggs had better go and see to your
+luggage, and if you will accept my mother's company----"
+
+"You cannot go?" There is a soft pleading, a regret that touches him,
+and makes him feel that he is playing false, and yet he surely is not.
+There is no reason why he should tell her of the coming step when he
+has hardly decided himself.
+
+"No," he answers, briefly. "I ought not leave St. Vincent an hour. My
+impression is that he will die at midnight or dawn. I have no one to
+whom I can depute any of the arrangements."
+
+It does not enter her mind that a little girl who plays with dolls or
+dishes can have anything in common with him. Possibly he may be made
+her guardian. She wants to stay, and yet there is no real excuse.
+
+He arranges everything for her journey, but will not bid her good by. A
+note can do that more easily, he thinks. Cecil cries and begs to go
+with him. Why not take her and Jane? He can send them home again if
+need be. Cecil is wild with delight, and madame really envies her.
+
+Violet receives her guest with tears and tender kisses. She has been
+sitting with her father, and now he is asleep. Denise has insisted upon
+her taking a little walk, and she is so glad to have Cecil, though the
+child is awed by the sad face.
+
+St. Vincent's breath is short and comes with difficulty. Whatever
+Grandon does must be done quickly. When the dying man stirs he asks him
+a question.
+
+"If you would----" with a long, feeble sigh, but the eyes fill and
+overflow with a peaceful light.
+
+"Violet," Grandon says, an hour later, "your father wishes for the
+marriage now. My child, are you--quite willing?"
+
+She gives him her hand. For a moment he rebels at the sacrifice. She
+knows nothing of her own soul, of love. Then he recalls the miserable
+ending of more than one love marriage. Was Laura's love to be preferred
+to this ignorance?
+
+"Come," he says; "Cecil, too."
+
+"She must be dressed!" cries Denise. "Oh, my lamb, I hope it may not be
+ill fortune to have no wedding dress, but you must be fresh and clean."
+Cecil looks on in wide-eyed wonder.
+
+"Is she going to be married as Aunt Laura was?" she asks, gravely.
+
+Grandon wonders how she will take it. If it should give her sweet,
+childish love a wrench!
+
+They assemble in the sick-room. The two stand close beside the bed, so
+near that St. Vincent can take his daughter's hand and give her away.
+The vows are uttered solemnly, the bond pronounced, "What God hath
+joined together let no man put asunder."
+
+"Cecil," her father says, "I have married Miss Violet. She is to be
+your mamma and live with us. I hope you will love her."
+
+Cecil studies her father with the utmost gravity, her eyes growing
+larger and more lustrous. Her breath comes with a sigh. "Papa," as if
+revolving something in her small mind, "madame cannot be my mamma now?"
+
+"Madame----"
+
+"Grandmamma said when I was just a little naughty this morning that I
+could not do so when madame was my mamma, that I would have to obey
+her."
+
+"No, she never would have been that," he returns, with a touch of
+anger.
+
+"You will love me!" Violet kneels before her and clasps her arms about
+the child, gives her the first kisses of her bridehood; and Cecil, awed
+by emotions she does not understand, draws a long, sobbing breath, and
+cries, "I do love you! I do love you!" hiding her face on Violet's
+shoulder.
+
+Floyd Grandon has given his child something else to love. A quick,
+sharp pang pierces him.
+
+There is a little momentary confusion, then Violet goes to her own
+father and lies many moments with his feeble arms about her, until a
+slight spasm stirs the worn frame.
+
+It is as the doctor has predicted. A terrible restlessness ensues, a
+pressure for breath, the precursors of the fatal struggle. He begs that
+Violet will go out in the air again, she is so pale, but he does not
+want her to witness this agony. They have had some brief, fond talks,
+and she is safe. All the rest he will meet bravely.
+
+The hours pass on and night comes. Violet kisses him and then takes
+Cecil to her own little room, where they fall asleep in each other's
+arms. The child is so sweet. She can never be quite forlorn with her.
+So much of her life has been passed apart from her father that it seems
+now as if he was going on a journey and would come back presently.
+
+But in the morning he goes on the last journey, holding Floyd Grandon's
+warm hand in his nerveless grasp. "My son," he sighs, and gives his
+fond, fond love to Violet.
+
+They let her go in the room with Denise; she pleads to have it so.
+Floyd paces the hall with Cecil in his arms. He cannot explain the
+mystery to her and does not attempt it, but she is quite content in the
+promise that Miss Violet is to come and live with them.
+
+Jane goes over with a note, and instructions to mention nothing beside
+the fact of the death, Mrs. Grandon and madame get off to New York, and
+Floyd fortifies himself for the evening's explanation.
+
+Violet is not noisy in her grief. She would like to sit all day and
+hold the dead hand in hers, watch the countenance that looks no paler
+now, and much more tranquil than it has for days. She is utterly
+incredulous in the face of this great mystery. He is asleep. He will
+come back.
+
+"Violet," Grandon says, at length. Is he going to love and cherish her
+as some irksome duty? He has never proffered love. In that old time all
+was demanded and given. Violet will demand nothing and be content. He
+draws her to him, the round, quivering chin rests in the palm of his
+hand, the eyes are tearful, entreating. He kisses the red, tremulous
+lips, not with a man's passionate fervor, but he feels them quiver
+beneath his, and he sees a pale pink tint creep up to the brow. She is
+very sweet, and she is his, not his ward, but his wife.
+
+"I hope we shall be happy," he says. "I shall try to do everything----"
+
+"You have been so good, so kind. Denise worships you," she says,
+simply.
+
+He wonders if she will ever worship him? He thought he should not care
+about it, but some feeling stirs within him now that makes cold
+possession seem a mockery.
+
+If they two could go away somewhere with Cecil, and live a quiet,
+comfortable life, with no thought of what any one will say. But
+explanations rise mountain high. It looks now as though he must give an
+account to everybody of what he has done.
+
+A brief note announces it to Wilmarth. There was no friendship before,
+but he knows there will be bitter enmity now. As business is dull, he
+suggests that the factory be closed for the whole week. After Mr.
+Vincent's burial, he, Grandon would like to have a business interview
+at the office of Mr. Ralph Sherburne, who has all the important papers.
+
+That is done. Cecil is quite willing to stay with Violet, and is really
+enchanted with Denise, so he goes home, where dinner is served in its
+usual lavish manner. His mother is tired, Gertrude ennuied, of course.
+The atmosphere is trying in the extreme.
+
+"I have something to tell you," he says, cutting the Gordian knot at a
+clean stroke. "I could not make the proper explanation this morning,
+but now, you must pardon what has been done in haste." And he tells the
+story briefly, leaving out whatever he deems advisable.
+
+"Married!" Mrs. Grandon almost shrieks.
+
+Gertrude looks at him in amaze. In her secret heart she is glad that
+madame is not to reign here in all her state and beauty, shining every
+one down, but she wonders how he has escaped the fascination.
+
+"Married!" his mother says again. "I did think, Floyd, you had more
+sense! A child like that,--a silly little thing who plays with dolls!
+If you wanted a _wife_," with withering contempt, "there was one of
+whom we should all have been proud! And you have behaved shamefully,
+after leading her to think----"
+
+"I never gave Madame Lepelletier the slightest reason to think that I
+cared for her beyond mere friendliness," he says, his face flushing
+scarlet. "I doubt if she would wish to share the kind of life I shall
+elect when I get through with this business. She is an elegant society
+woman, and I shall always admire her, as I have done. I doubt if she
+would care for me," he adds, but his conscience gives a little twinge.
+
+"When is this new mistress to come home?" asks his mother, in a bitter
+tone.
+
+"I shall bring her in a few days, and I hope she will be made welcome.
+This----"
+
+"I am aware this house is yours," she interrupts.
+
+Floyd is shocked. "I was not going to say that: it was the furthest
+from my thoughts," he answers, indignantly. "Do not let us quarrel or
+have any words. You are all welcome to a home."
+
+"It is so pleasant to be reminded of one's dependence." And Mrs.
+Grandon begins to weep.
+
+"Mother," Floyd says, deliberately, "I am going to bend every energy to
+make the business the success that my father hoped it would be, and to
+provide an independence for you all, as he would have done had his life
+been spared. In this I shall have very little help from Eugene, and
+trouble with Wilmarth, but I shall do my whole duty."
+
+"I wish your father had never taken up with that St. Vincent; there has
+been nothing but annoyance, there never will be."
+
+"If there is trouble with my wife I hope I shall have the courage and
+manliness to endure it," he returns, resolutely. "But I trust no one
+will try to bring it about," he says, in a tone that implies it would
+not be a safe undertaking.
+
+Mrs. Grandon rises and sails out of the room. Floyd goes on with his
+dessert, though he does not want a mouthful.
+
+"Floyd," Gertrude says, timidly, "you must not mind mother. She will
+come around right after a while. I don't believe she would have been
+happy if you had married madame, and I am glad, yes, positively glad.
+Cecil cannot endure her. I will try to like your wife. Is she such a
+mere child?"
+
+Floyd is really grateful. "She is seventeen," he answers, "and quite
+pretty, but small. She has been educated at a convent, and knows very
+little about the world, but Cecil loves her. I hope we shall all get
+along well," and he sighs. Life is so much harder than he could have
+imagined it three months ago. He is so weary, so troubled, that he
+feels like throwing up everything and going abroad, but, ah, he cannot.
+He is chained fast in the interest of others. "Talk to mother a
+little," he adds, "and try to make her comfortable. You see I couldn't
+have done any differently. I never _could_ have endured all the talk
+beforehand."
+
+When he returns to the eyrie he finds Denise holding Cecil and telling
+her some marvellous story. Violet is in the room with her father. "She
+would go," Denise says. "It is only such a little while that she can
+see him."
+
+Cecil and Jane are sent home the following day. There is a very quiet
+funeral, but the few mourners are sincere. Violet begs to stay with
+Denise in the cottage, and Floyd cannot refuse. Lindmeyer returns to
+town and is shocked by the tidings. Grandon appoints a meeting with him
+the next morning at Sherburne's office. Briggs and the nurse are at the
+cottage, so Floyd goes home to arrange matters for the advent of
+Violet.
+
+His mother has settled to a mood of sullen indignation. Why could not
+Floyd have become guardian for this girl, and between them all they
+might have brought about a marriage with Eugene, who needs the fortune?
+If the patent should prove a success, the interest of these two young
+people would become identical. Floyd has made himself his brother's
+greatest rival, instead of best friend. Through Violet he has a
+quarter-share of the business and control of the patent. She is sure
+this must have been the deciding weight in the scale, for he is not
+romantic, and not easily caught by woman's wiles. She understands
+self-interest, but a generous denial of self for another person is
+quite beyond her appreciation.
+
+Yet she knows in her secret heart that if Floyd gave up, they would go
+to ruin, and Wilmarth would be possessor of all. She does not fly out
+in a temper now, but makes the interview unpleasant to her son, though
+she is really afraid to confess her true view of the matter, little
+imagining how soon he could have resolved her doubts. She hints at
+other steps which might have been taken, and he supposes it refers to
+his marriage with Madame Lepelletier. Tired at length of skirmishing
+about with no decisive result, Floyd boldly makes a proposal. It is
+best perhaps that he should be master in his own house, since of course
+he must provide for all expenses. The furniture he would like to keep
+as it is, if his mother chooses to sell it to him, and the money would
+be better for her. He would like her to remain and take charge, since
+Violet is so young, and he wants her to feel that her home is always
+here, that he considers her and his sisters a part of the heritage
+bequeathed by his father, and that independent of the business he shall
+have enough for all. "Do not forget," he cries, "that I am your son!"
+
+He is her son, but she would like to be entirely independent. The most
+bitter thing, she tells herself, is to ask favors of children. And yet
+she cannot say that Floyd has taken the family substance; he has cost
+his father nothing since early boyhood. They have had his beautiful
+house, and since his return he has spent his own money freely. She
+wishes, or thinks she does, that she could pay back every penny of it,
+and yet she is not willing to give of that which costs her
+nothing,--tenderness, appreciation. She takes because she must, and
+nurses her defiant pride which has been aroused by no fault of his.
+
+"I shall expect the girls to make their home with me until they are
+married," he continues. "I think that old English custom of having one
+home centre is right, and as I am the elder it is my place to provide
+it. I do not know as I shall be able to keep up the lavish scale of my
+father's day," and he sighs.
+
+Mrs. Grandon remembers well that there was a great complaint of bills
+in her husband's time, and that Eugene has been frightfully extravagant
+since. He is off pleasuring, and the other is here planning and
+toiling. There is a small sense of injustice, but she salves her
+conscience with the idea that it is an executor's bounden duty, and
+that Floyd has had nothing but pleasure and idleness in his time.
+
+It is late when he goes to his room to toss and tumble about
+restlessly, and feel dissatisfied with the result of his work. Has he
+been unfilial, unbrotherly? Surely every man has some rights in his own
+life, his own aims. But has he done the best with his? Was it wise to
+marry Violet? In a certain way she _is_ dear to him; she has saved his
+child for him,--his whole heart swells in gratitude. As for the love,
+the love that is talked of and written about, or the overmastering
+passion a man might experience for Madame Lepelletier, neither tempts
+him. A quiet, friendly regard that will allow him to go his own way,
+choose his own pursuits, command his own time, if a man must have a
+wife; and he knows in his secret heart of hearts that he really does
+not care to have a wife, that it will not materially add to his
+happiness.
+
+"I ought not to have married her," he admits to himself in a
+conscience-stricken way, "but there was nothing else to do. And I
+surely can make her happy, she is satisfied with such a little."
+
+His conscience pricks him there. Is he to turn niggard and dole out to
+her a few crumbs of regard and tenderness? to let her take from the
+child what the husband ought to give? If there were no contrasting
+memory, no secret sense of weariness amid kisses and caresses and
+caprices pretty enough for occasional use, the dessert of love's
+feasts, but never really touching the man's deeper life.
+
+"It must be that some important elements have been left out of my
+composition," he ruminates, grimly. Could even madame have moved him to
+a headlong passion? Would there not come satiety even with her?
+Certainly Cecil's welfare was to be considered in a second marriage,
+and he has done that. If he has blundered again for himself he will
+make the best of it in the certainty that there is now another and
+absorbing interest to his life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+I cannot argue, I can only feel.--GOETHE.
+
+
+Grandon runs carelessly over his mail before the morning meeting at Mr.
+Sherburne's. Two letters interest him especially and he lays them
+aside. One is from Eugene. That improvident young man is out of money.
+He is tired of Lake George and desires to go to Newport. He is sorry
+that Floyd is getting himself into such a mess with the business, and
+is quite sure the best thing would be to sell out to Wilmarth. He has
+had a letter from him in which he, Wilmarth, confesses that matters are
+in a very serious strait unless Mr. Floyd Grandon is willing to risk
+his private fortune. "Don't do it," counsels the younger. "The new
+machinery is a confounded humbug, but if any one _can_ make it work,
+Wilmarth is the man. If St. Vincent wants to get his daughter a
+husband, why does he not offer her to Wilmarth? If she is as pretty as
+you say, she ought not go begging for a mate, but when _I_ marry for a
+fortune I want the money in hand, not locked up in a lot of useless
+trumpery."
+
+A pang goes through Floyd's soul. If he never had offered her to
+Eugene! It seems almost as if he had stabbed her to the heart. He can
+see her soft, entreating, velvet eyes, and he covers his face with his
+hands to hide the blush of shame. He will make it all up to her a
+thousand times. Ah, can mere money ever take out such a sting?
+
+The other letter is from a German professor and dear friend that he
+left behind in Egypt, who expects to reach America early in September,
+and find that Herr Grandon has improved his time and transcribed and
+arranged all the notes, as he has so many more. There will be little
+enough time, so the good comrade must not idle. They will have a good
+long vacation afterward, when they can climb mountains and shoot
+buffaloes, and explore the New World together, but now every day is of
+value!
+
+Floyd Grandon gives a smile of dismay. The precious days are flying so
+rapidly. And everything has changed, the most important of all, his own
+life. How could he?
+
+He is a little late at the lawyer's, and they are all assembled. He
+gives a quick glance toward Wilmarth. The impassible face has its usual
+half-sneer and the covert politeness so baffling. Lindmeyer has been
+explaining something, and stops short with an eager countenance.
+
+The provisions of the will are gone over again. Floyd Grandon is now an
+interested party in behalf of his wife. There are the books with a very
+bad showing for the six months. They have not paid expenses, and there
+is no reserve capital to fall back upon. It looks wonderfully like a
+failure. Wilmarth watches Grandon closely. He is aware now that he has
+underrated the vigor of his opponent, who by a lucky turn of fate holds
+the trump cards. That Floyd Grandon could or would have married Miss
+St. Vincent passes him. He knows nothing, of course, of the episode
+with Cecil, and thinks the only motive is the chance to get back the
+money he has been advancing on every hand. If _he_ only had signed a
+marriage contract there in Canada! He could almost subject himself to
+the tortures of the rack for his blunder.
+
+"Gentlemen," says Lindmeyer, who is a frank, energetic man of about
+Grandon's age, with a keen eye and a resolute way of shutting his
+mouth, "I see no reason at present why this should _not_ succeed.
+It has been badly handled, not understood. Mr. St. Vincent was not able
+to make the workmen see with his eyes, and in his state of health he
+was so excitable, confused, and worried that I don't wonder, indeed, I
+have this plan to propose. If either of you gentlemen," glancing at
+Wilmarth and Grandon, "will advance me sufficient means, and allow me
+to choose my own foreman, perhaps a head man in every department, I
+will prove to you in a month that the thing is a success, that there is
+a fortune in it."
+
+The steady, confident ring in the man's voice inspires them all. He is
+no wild enthusiast. They glance at Wilmarth, as being in some sense
+head of the business.
+
+He knows, no one better, of all the obstacles that have been placed in
+the way, so cunningly that no man could put a finger on the motive. It
+has been his persistent resolve to let everything run down, to bring
+the business to the very verge of bankruptcy. He did not count on Floyd
+Grandon being so ready to part with his money to save it, or of ever
+having any personal interest in it, and he _did_ count on his being
+disgusted with his brother's selfishness, indolence, and lack of
+business capacity; all of which he has sedulously fostered, while
+attaching the young man to him by many indulgences. This part of the
+game is surely at an end.
+
+Floyd sits silent. How much money will it take? What if he is swallowed
+down the throat of the great factory! His father's instructions were to
+the effect that if he could _not_ save it without endangering his
+private fortune, to let it go. There is still ground that he can sell.
+There might be a new vein opened in the quarry. He _must_ risk it.
+
+"If Mr. Grandon," says Mr. Wilmarth, with a slow, irritating intonation
+that hardly conceals insolence, "feels able to advance for the three
+quarters, I can look after my share. I must confess that I am _not_ an
+expert in mechanics, and may have been mistaken in some of my views. My
+late partner was very sanguine, while my temperament is of the doubting
+order. I am apt to go slowly, but I try to go surely. I am not a rich
+man," dryly.
+
+"Let it be done, then," returns Grandon. He has no more faith in
+Wilmarth to-day than he had last week, but he will not work against his
+own interest, surely!
+
+There are many points to discuss and settle. Lindmeyer will proceed to
+the factory and get everything in good running order for next week, and
+hunt up one man who understands this business, an Englishman who is
+looking around for a permanent position, whom he has known for some
+years.
+
+"Our superintendent holds his engagement by the year," says Wilmarth,
+with provoking suavity. "What can we do with him?"
+
+"It is distinctly understood that I am not to be hampered in any way!"
+protests Lindmeyer.
+
+"Give your man a holiday," says Connery. "Two lords can never agree to
+rule one household."
+
+"The best thing," decides Grandon.
+
+Then they go to the factory, where an explanation is made to the men.
+Mr. Brent receives a check for a month's wages in advance, and a
+vacation. Mr. Wilmarth looks on with a sardonic suavity, saying little,
+and betraying surprise rather than ill-humor, but he hates Floyd
+Grandon to the last thread. The man has come between him and all his
+plans. No mere money can ever make up to him for being thus baffled.
+
+Floyd Grandon takes his way along to the little eyrie. Down in the
+garden there is a glimpse of a white gown, and now he need pause for no
+propriety. Violet starts at the step, turns, and colors, but stands
+quite still. Denise has been giving her some instructions as to her new
+position and its duties, but has only succeeded in confusing her, in
+taking away her friend with whom she felt at ease, and giving her a tie
+that alarms and perplexes.
+
+She is very pale and her deep eyes are filled with a curious,
+deprecating light. A broad black ribbon is fastened about her waist,
+and a knot at her throat. She looks so small, so lovely, that he
+gathers her in his arms.
+
+"My little darling," he begins, in a voice of infinite tenderness, "I
+seem to neglect you sadly, but there are so many things."
+
+"Do not mind," she answers, softly. "I am quite used to being alone. I
+missed Cecil very much, though," and her sweet lip quivers. "Oh, are
+you quite sure, quite satisfied that I can do my duty toward her? I
+never had a mother of my own to remember, but I will be very good and
+kind. I love children, and she is so sweet."
+
+"My little girl, you are a child yourself. As the years go on you and
+Cecil will be more like sisters, companions; and I hope you will always
+be friends. I must take you home," he continues, abruptly. "My mother
+and one sister are there; all the rest are away."
+
+She shivers a little. "Am I to live there?" she asks, timidly. She has
+been thinking how altogether lovely it would be to have him and Cecil
+here.
+
+"Why, of course. You belong to me now."
+
+He means it for a touch of pleasant intimacy, but she seems to shrink
+away. In that old time--the brief year--caresses and attention were
+continually demanded. This new wife does not even meet him half way,
+and he feels awkward. He can be fond enough of Cecil, and is never at a
+loss, but this ground is so new that he is inclined to pick his way
+carefully, with a feeling that she is not at all like any one he has
+ever known.
+
+They are walking back to the house, and when Denise comes to greet them
+she sees that the husband has his arm around his young wife's waist.
+Her Old World idea is that the wife should respect the husband to a
+point of wholesome fear. They are certainly doing very well. She feels
+so proud of this great, grave man, with his broad shoulders, his
+flowing brown beard, his decisive eye, and general air of command.
+
+"Have you had any dinner or lunch?" Violet says, suddenly, moved with a
+new sense of care.
+
+"Yes. But I think we will have a glass of wine and--Have you eaten
+anything?"
+
+She colors a little. "No," says Denise. "She doesn't eat enough to keep
+a cricket alive."
+
+"Then we must have some dinner. Denise will get it. Would you like to
+come up-stairs with me?"
+
+He has brought home a few papers to put in her father's desk. On the
+threshold he pauses. The room is in perfect order. The snowy bed, the
+spotless toilet-table, the clean towels on the rack, with their curious
+monogram in Denise's needle-work, the table, with an orderly litter of
+papers, arranged by a woman's hand, and a white saucer filled with
+purple heliotrope. The arm-chair is a trifle pushed aside, as if some
+one has just risen, and another chair, as if for a guest, stands there.
+He understands that she has been busy here. She gives a long sigh.
+
+"My poor darling!"
+
+She is weeping very softly in his arms.
+
+"It is all so sad," she says, "and yet I know he is in heaven with
+mamma. He loved her very much. Denise told me so. He would not wish to
+come back even if he could, and it would be selfish to want him. He had
+to suffer so much, poor papa! But I would like to keep this room just
+so, and come now and then, if I might."
+
+"You shall. I must talk to Denise." He wonders now how Lindmeyer would
+like to be here for a month. There are so many things to go over.
+"Yes," he continues, "this room shall be sacred. No one shall come here
+but Denise and you."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+They go through to the study. He remembers the picture he saw here one
+day. Then they continue their walk past her plain little nun's room,
+with Denise's opening out of it. The house being built on a side-hill
+makes this just above the kitchen. Down-stairs there are four more
+rooms.
+
+Never was man more at a loss for some of the kindly commonplaces of
+society. She seems sacred in her grief, and he cannot offer the stern
+comfort wherewith a man solaces himself; he is too new for the little
+nothings of love, and so they walk gravely on, down the stairs again,
+and out on the porch that hangs over the slope. But she likes him the
+better for his silence, and the air of strength seems to stir her
+languid pulses.
+
+Denise summons them to their meal. He pours a trifle of wine for her in
+the daintiest, thinnest glass, she pours tea for him in a cup that
+would make a hunter of rare old china thrill to the finger-ends. He
+puts a bit of the cold chicken on her plate, and insists that she shall
+try the toast and the creamed potatoes. She has such a meek little
+habit of obedience that he almost smiles.
+
+When the dessert has been eaten and they rise, Denise says, with kindly
+authority, "Go take a walk in the garden, Miss Violet, while I talk to
+Mr. Grandon. Pardon me; madame, I mean."
+
+Grandon smiles, and Violet, looking at him, smiles also, but goes with
+her light movement, so full of grace.
+
+"It is about the child's clothes, monsieur," Denise begins, her
+wrinkled face flushing. "She has no trousseau, there has been no time,
+and I am an old woman, but it is all mourning, and she does not like
+black. It is too gloomy for the child, but what is to be done?"
+
+Floyd Grandon is much puzzled. If madame,--but no, he would not want
+madame's wisdom in this case, even if he could have it. There is his
+mother; well, he cannot ask her. Gertrude would not feel able to
+bother.
+
+"She wore a dress to the funeral," he says, with the vaguest idea of
+what it was.
+
+"Her father would have her buy some pretty light things when she was in
+the city, but her other dresses are what she had at school, gray and
+black. They are not suitable for madame. Some are still short----"
+
+"You will have to go with her," Grandon says. "I can take you both into
+the city some day."
+
+"But I do not know----"
+
+"I will find out what is wanted. Yes, you will go with her; she would
+feel more at home with you," he says, in his authoritative manner.
+
+Denise courtesies meekly.
+
+"I am going to keep the house just as it is," announces Grandon. "She
+will like to come every day until she gets a little settled in her new
+home. I hope she will be happy."
+
+"She could not fail to be happy with you and your little girl." Denise
+answers, with confident simplicity.
+
+Floyd bethinks himself. Mrs. Grandon must be taken home in the
+carriage. He will begin by paying her all honor. There is no one to
+send, so he must e'en but go himself. He finds Violet in the garden and
+tells her to make herself ready against his coming.
+
+She would like to go in her white dress, just as she is, but Denise
+overrules so great a blunder, and when Grandon returns he finds a pale
+little nun in black, with a close bonnet and long veil. Cecil has come
+with him, and is shocked at this strange metamorphosis. She draws back
+in dismay.
+
+"Cecil!" The voice is so longingly, so entreatingly sweet that Floyd
+Grandon stands transfixed. "You have not forgotten that you loved me!"
+
+"But--you are not pretty in that bonnet. It is just like grandmamma's,
+and the long veil----"
+
+"Never mind, my dear," says her father, and inwardly he anathematizes
+fashion. Violet is not as pretty as she was an hour ago. The black
+makes her sunshiny hair look almost red, and her face is so very grave.
+
+They have a nice long ride first. Cecil presently thaws into the
+mistress of ceremonies in a very amusing manner.
+
+"My doll is not as large as yours," she confesses, "but I will let you
+play with it. Can't you bring yours, too, and then we will each have
+one. You are going to live always at papa's house, you know, and you
+can tell me stories. Jane said I would have to learn lessons, will I?"
+
+"Oh, I should so like to teach you," says Violet, flushing.
+
+"But you must not scold me! Papa never lets any one scold me," she
+announces, with a positive air.
+
+"I never should," and Violet wipes away some tears. "I shall always
+love you."
+
+"Oh, don't cry!" Cecil is deeply moved now, and her own lovely eyes
+fill. Grandon winks his hard and turns his face aside. They are two
+children comforting one another.
+
+Violet is quite amazed as they drive around the wide sweep of gravelled
+way. Floyd hands her out. "This is your home henceforth," he says. "You
+and Cecil are the two treasures I have brought to it, and I hope
+neither of you will take wings and fly away. I shall look for you both
+to make me very happy."
+
+He has touched the right chord. She glances up and smiles, and is
+transfigured in spite of the dismal mourning gear. If she _can_ do
+anything for him! If the benefits will not always lie on his side!
+
+He takes her straight through to the elegant drawing-room. She shall be
+paid the honors in her own proper sphere. While he is waiting he unties
+the ugly little bonnet and takes her out of her crape shroud, as it
+looks to him.
+
+"Mrs. Grandon has gone out to drive," announces Mary, who has been
+instructed to say just this, without a bit of apology.
+
+Gertrude stands in the doorway. She nearly always wears long white
+woollen wrappers that cling to her figure and trail on the ground, and
+intensify the appearance of attenuation. A pale lavender Shetland shawl
+is wrapped about her. She has had quite a discussion with her mother,
+in which she had evinced unwonted spirit. Floyd has been good to them,
+and it will be dreadfully ungenerous to begin by treating his wife
+badly.
+
+Her brother's face is flashed with indignation. "I am glad you had the
+grace to come, Gertrude," he exclaims, pointedly, and takes her over to
+Violet, who looks up entreatingly at the tall figure.
+
+"Oh," she says, confusedly, "what a little dot you are! And Violet is
+such a pretty name for you."
+
+"I hope you will like me. I hope----"
+
+"If you can put up with me," is the rejoinder. "I am in wretched health
+and scarcely stir from my sofa, but I am sure I _shall_ like you"; and
+Gertrude resolves bravely that she will be on the side of the new wife,
+if it does not cost her too much exertion.
+
+"What a lovely house!" and Violet draws a long, satisfied breath. "And
+the river is so near."
+
+"You must never go without Jane," annotates Cecil; "must she, papa?"
+
+They all smile at this. "I should not like to have her lost," says
+papa, gravely.
+
+"Do you ever go out rowing or sailing?"
+
+"I never do," and Gertrude shudders. "I cannot bear the heat of the sun
+or the chill of evening. But we have boats."
+
+"And I am a crack oarsman," says Grandon. "I shall practise up for a
+match."
+
+They begin to ramble about presently. It really is better than if Mrs.
+Grandon was at home. Out on the wide porches, through the library, up
+the tower, and Violet is in ecstasies with the view. Then they come
+down through the chambers, and the young wife feels as if she had been
+inspecting a palace. How very rich Mr. Grandon must be! If papa had
+lived he might have made the fortune he used to study over.
+
+Violet is quite bright and flushed when the dinner-bell rings, and is
+introduced to her husband's mother at the head of the elegantly
+appointed table. She is in rich black silk, with crape folds, and very
+handsome jet ornaments, and Violet shrinks into herself as the sharp
+eyes glance her over. Why should they be so unfriendly? All
+conversation languishes, as Cecil is trained not to talk at the table.
+
+Violet returns to the drawing-room and walks wistfully about the grand
+piano. Floyd opens it for her and begs her to amuse herself whenever
+she feels so inclined. "Is he quite certain no one will be annoyed?"
+"Quite." Then she seats herself. She has had no piano at the eyrie.
+This is delicious. She runs her fingers lightly over the keys and
+evokes the softest magic music, the sweetest, saddest strains. They
+stir Floyd's very soul as he sits with Cecil on his knee, who is
+large-eyed and wondering.
+
+Mrs. Grandon saunters in presently. "How close it is," she exclaims,
+"and I have such an excruciating headache!"
+
+"Ah," says Violet, sympathetically. "I had better not continue playing,
+it might distress you."
+
+"Oh, no, you need not mind." The tone is that of a martyr, and Violet
+stops with a last tender strain. Floyd Grandon is so angry that he dare
+not trust his voice to speak. Violet stands for a moment undecided,
+then he stretches out his hand, and she is so glad of the warm clasp in
+that great lonely room.
+
+"Let us go out to walk. It is not quite dark yet. Cecil, ask Jane to
+bring some shawls."
+
+Cecil slips down. Floyd draws his wife nearer. He would like to hold
+the slight little thing, but his mother is opposite, and he must not
+make Violet seem a baby.
+
+"I have put an end to that!" exclaims Mrs. Grandon, vindictively, going
+back to Gertrude. "That is Laura's piano, and it shall not be drummed
+on by school-girls. What Floyd could see in that silly little
+red-haired thing to bring her to a place like this, when he could have
+had a lady----"
+
+"After all, if he is satisfied," begins Gertrude, deprecatingly.
+
+"He wanted her fortune! He doesn't care a sixpence for her. It was to
+get the business in his hands, and now we can all tramp as soon as we
+please."
+
+"Mother, you _are_ unjust."
+
+"And you are a poor, spiritless fool, who can never see anything beyond
+the page of a novel!" is the stinging retort.
+
+She goes to her own room, and the morning's mail carries the news to
+Eugene and Laura.
+
+Floyd has letters to write this evening, and when Cecil's bedtime
+comes, Violet goes up with her. They have a pretty romp that quite
+scandalizes Jane, who is not at all sure how much respect she owes this
+new mistress.
+
+"O you sweet little darling!" Violet cries for the twentieth time. "You
+are the one thing I can have for mine."
+
+"I am papa's first," says Cecil, with great dignity. "He loves me best
+of anything in the wide world,--he has told me so, oh, a hundred times!
+And I love him best, and then you. Oh, what makes you cry so often,
+because your papa is dead?"
+
+No one but poor old Denise will ever love her "best of all." She has
+had her day of being first. Even in heaven papa has found the one he so
+long lost and is happy. She can never be first with him again. He
+hardly misses her, Violet; he has had her only at such long intervals,
+such brief whiles.
+
+In the silence she cries herself to sleep the first night in her new
+home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+Men, like bullets, go farthest when they are smoothest.--JEAN PAUL.
+
+
+Floyd Grandon begins the next morning by treating his wife as if she
+were a princess born. His fine breeding stands in stead of husbandly
+love. Briggs has orders to take her and Miss Cecil out in the carriage
+every day. Jane is to wait on her. Even Cecil is not allowed to tease,
+and instructed to call her mamma. He escorts her in to the table, and
+at a glance the servant pays her outward deference at least.
+
+"Violet," he says, after breakfast, "will you drive over with me to see
+Denise on a little business? No, Cecil, my darling, you cannot go now,
+and I shall bring your mamma back very soon. Be a cheerful little girl,
+and you shall have her afterward."
+
+Cecil knows that tone means obedience. She is not exactly cheerful, but
+neither is she cross. They drive in Marcia's pony phaeton.
+
+"Nothing in the world is too good for us," Mrs. Grandon says, with a
+sneer. "There will be open war between her and Marcia."
+
+"She will be likely to have a pony carriage of her own," observes
+Gertrude, who resolves to mention this project to Floyd.
+
+"Oh, yes. I suppose the economy for others, means extravagance here.
+_We_ can afford it."
+
+Gertrude makes no further comment.
+
+Violet glances timidly at her husband's face, and sees a determination
+that she is to misinterpret many times before she can read it aright.
+She is not exactly happy. All this state and attention render her
+nervous, it is so unlike her simple life.
+
+"Violet," he begins, "Denise was speaking yesterday of--of----" How
+shall he get to it. "There was no time to provide you any clothes,
+any--You see I am not much of a lady's man. I have been out in India
+and Egypt, and where they keep women shut up in harems, and never had
+occasion to think much about it. I want to take you and Denise to the
+city; perhaps you would go to-day?" with a man's promptness.
+
+Violet is puzzled, alarmed, and some notion of delicacy almost leads
+her to protest.
+
+"I am too abrupt, I suppose," he says, ruefully, looking almost as
+distressed as she. "But you see it is necessary."
+
+"Then if Denise----"
+
+He is thinking the sooner they go the better. He will not have his
+mother saying she came destitute and penniless, or considering her
+attire out of the way. He went once to the city with Laura, and left
+her at a modiste's, and he can find it again, so he will take them
+there and order all that any lady in Violet's station will require. No
+one need know they have gone. It all flashes over him in an instant. He
+had meant merely to make arrangements, but now he plans the trip. They
+can go to Westbrook station, they can return without being seen of
+prying eyes. He feels a little more sensitive on the subject because he
+has so lately seen all of Laura's wedding paraphernalia. There will be
+Laura, and perhaps madame to inspect her, and she must stand the test
+well for her own sake. He would like to see her always in a white gown;
+even that gray one was pretty the day she saved his darling.
+
+"Yes," he says, rousing suddenly. "Denise understands all about these
+matters. You are still so young." Laura he remembers was but a year
+older, but, oh, how much wiser in worldly lore! No, he would never care
+to have Violet wise in that way. "And if it had been otherwise,--my
+child, it was a sad bridal. Some time we will make amends for all
+that."
+
+Her eyes fill with tears. She is still looking very grave when Denise
+takes her in the fond, motherly arms. While she is gone upstairs to
+papa's room, Grandon explains and convinces Denise that the journey is
+absolutely necessary, and that no one can serve her young mistress as
+well as she.
+
+He sends a carriage for them while he takes Marcia's phaeton home, and
+explains to Cecil that her mamma has some important business with
+Denise, and tells his mother neither of them will be home to luncheon.
+
+Denise looks the neat old serving-woman to perfection, and once started
+on their journey Violet's face brightens. They find the modiste, who
+inspects her new customers and is all suavity. Grandon makes a brief
+explanation, and questions if all toilets must be black.
+
+"It is extremely sad," and Madame Vauban looks sympathetic. "And she is
+so young, so petite! Crapes seem to weigh her down, yet there must be
+some for street use. If madame was not purposing to wear it very long,
+it might be lightened the sooner. Just now there could be only black
+and white."
+
+"Put plenty of white in it, then," orders Mr. Grandon, and samples are
+brought out for his inspection. He thinks after this sorrowful time is
+over she shall dress like a little queen. There are so many lovely
+gowns and laces, so much that is daintily pretty, appropriate for her.
+He can hardly refrain from buying her trinkets and nonsense, but he
+will not have her subjected to hostile criticisms, and he is not sure
+his judgment is to be trusted. He would doubtless flounder among the
+proprieties.
+
+"And now," he says, when they are in the street again, "would you like
+to go anywhere? There is the park, and there must be pictures
+somewhere. I wish there was a matinee, only it might not be right to
+go"; and he secretly anathematizes his own ignorance of polite and
+well-bred circles. But he learns the whereabouts of two galleries, and
+they stumble over some bric-a-brac that is quite enchanting. Violet has
+been trained on correct principles. She knows the names and eras of
+china, and has discrimination. Her little bit of French is well
+pronounced. She is not so well posted in modern painters, but she has
+the o'd ones, with their virgins and saints and crucifixions, all by
+heart.
+
+They are sitting on a sofa resting, and glancing at some pictures
+opposite. Denise is busy with a homely farm scene that recalls her
+girlhood, and no one is in their vicinity. One small, white, ungloved
+hand rests on Violet's lap. Her face is sweet and serious, without the
+sad gravity that shadows it so often. Indeed, she is very happy. She
+has not been so much at ease with Floyd Grandon since her marriage,
+neither has he devoted himself to her entertainment with such a cordial
+purpose as now. He certainly _is_ a fascinating man to the most of
+womenkind, even when he is indifferent to them, but he is not
+indifferent at this juncture. There is a curious quality in Floyd
+Grandon's nature that is often despised by enthusiastic people. When it
+is his bounden duty to take certain steps in life, he resolutely bends
+his will and pleasure to them. He means honestly to love this wife that
+circumstances or his own sympathetic weakness has brought him. Just now
+it seems an easy matter. He has a horror of pronounced freedoms; they
+look silly and vulgar, yet he cannot resist clasping the little bare
+hand. The warm touch thrills her. She turns just enough to let him
+catch the shy, pleased, irresistible light in her eye; no finished
+coquette could have done it better, but with her it is such simple
+earnest.
+
+"Are you happy?" he asks, not because he is ignorant, but he wants an
+admission.
+
+"Oh!" It is just a soft, low sigh, and though her cheek flushes that
+delicious rose pink, her face is still. The light comes over it like a
+lustrous wave.
+
+"Why, this is a bit of wedding journey," he says. "I did not think of
+it before. I wish I could take you away for a week or two, but there is
+so much on my mind that maybe I should not be an entertaining
+companion. It will come presently, and it will be ever so much better
+not to be shaded by grief."
+
+She is quite glad that they are not away from all the old things. She
+knows so little about him, she feels so strange when she comes very
+near to him in any matter, as if she longed to run away to Denise or
+Cecil. Just sitting here is extremely sweet and safe, and does not
+alarm her.
+
+There is a clock striking four. Can it be they have idled away nearly
+all day? He rises and draws the bare hand through his arm, he is even
+gallant enough to take her parasol, while she carries a pretty satin
+satchel-like box of bonbons for Cecil. Denise comes at his nod; she has
+two or three of her mistress's parcels, and they take up their homeward
+journey. He carries her parasol so high that the sun shines in her
+eyes; but the distance is short, and she says nothing.
+
+Fortunately they reach home just in time for dinner. Cecil is out on
+the porch, in the last stages of desolation.
+
+"Come up with me and get this pretty box," cries Violet, holding it out
+temptingly. "And to-morrow we will both spend with Denise, who will
+make us tarts and chocolate cream."
+
+"You stayed such a long, long while," groans Cecil, not quite pacified.
+
+"But I shall not do it again," she promises. She is so bright that the
+child feels unconsciously aggrieved.
+
+Mrs. Grandon is very stately, and wears an air of injured dignity that
+really vexes her son, who cannot see how she has been hurt by his
+marriage, so long as he does not make Violet the real mistress of the
+house. He has proposed that she affix her own valuation on the
+furniture she is willing to part with; he will pay her income every six
+months, and she will be at liberty to go and come as she pleases. What
+more can he do?
+
+He explains to Violet a day or two afterward, that between the factory
+and his own writing he will hardly have an hour to spare, and that she
+must not feel hurt at his absence. Lindmeyer has come, and with Joseph
+Rising they are going over all with the utmost exactness. There are
+sullen looks and short answers on the part of the workmen. It has been
+gently hinted to them that other vacations may be given without any
+advance wages. Wilmarth is quietly sympathetic. It is necessary, of
+course, that the best should be done for Mr. Grandon, who has managed
+to get everything in his own hands and entangle his private fortune.
+And though Wilmarth never has been a thorough favorite as old Mr.
+Grandon, and Mr. Eugene, with his _bonhomie_, yet now the men question
+him in a furtive way.
+
+"I have very little voice in the matter," explains Jasper Wilmarth,
+with an affected cautiousness. "I have tried to understand Mr. St.
+Vincent's views about the working of his patent, but machinery is not
+my forte. I can only hope----"
+
+"We did well enough before the humbugging thing was put in," says one
+of the workmen, sullenly. "Mr. Grandon made money. We had decent wages
+and decent wool, and we weren't stopping continually to get this thing
+changed and that thing altered. Now you're thrown out half a day here
+and half a day there, and the new men are nosing round as if they
+suspected you would make way with something and meant to catch you at
+it."
+
+"We must have patience," says Wilmarth, in that extremely irritating,
+hopeless tone. "Mr. Grandon _is_ interested in his wife's behalf,
+though it is said he has a fortune of his own, and the new method must
+be made to pay him, if every one else suffers. I am not a rich man, and
+should be sorry to lose what I thought was so sure in this concern."
+
+Rising finds his position an extremely disagreeable one. The men are
+not only curt, but evince a distrust of him, are unwilling to follow
+his suggestions, and will keep on in their old ways. Lindmeyer finds
+himself curiously foiled everywhere. It seems as if some unknown agency
+was at work. What he puts in order to-day is not quite right to-morrow.
+All the nice adjustment he can theorize about will not work
+harmoniously, economically. So passes away a fortnight.
+
+"Mr. Grandon," he says, honestly, "I seldom make a decided blunder
+about these matters, but I can't get down to the very soul of this.
+There is a little miss somewhere. I said I could tell you in a month,
+but I am afraid I shall have to ask a further fortnight's grace. I
+never was so puzzled in my life. It is making an expensive experiment
+for you, but I _do_ think it best to go on. I don't say this to
+lengthen out the job. There is plenty of work for me to go at."
+
+Grandon sighs. He finds it very expensive. It is money on the right
+hand and the left, and with a costly house and large family the income
+that was double his bachelor wants melts away like dew. He is not
+parsimonious, but his instincts and habits have been prudent. He is
+making inroads upon his capital, and if he should never get it back?
+His father, it is true, has advised against entangling his private
+fortune, but it cannot be helped now. To retreat with honor is
+impossible and would be extremely mortifying. He will not do that, he
+resolves. But how if he has to retreat with failure?
+
+All these things trouble him greatly and distract his attention. He
+sits up far into the night poring over his own work that was such
+pleasure a few months ago, and he can hardly keep his mind on what so
+delighted him then. There is quite too much on every hand, and he must
+add to it family complications. His beautiful home is full of jarring
+elements. Even Cecil grows naughty with the superabundant vitality of
+childhood, and is inclined to tyrannize over Violet, who often submits
+for very lack of spirit, and desire of love.
+
+They are always together, these two. They take long drives in the
+carriage, and Mrs. Grandon complains that everything must be given over
+to that silly, red-haired thing! Gertrude does battle for the hair one
+morning.
+
+"I do not call it red," she says, with a decision good to hear from the
+languid woman. "It is a kind of bright brown, chestnut. Mrs. McLeod's
+is red."
+
+"Auburn, my dear," retorts Mrs. Grandon mockingly. "If you are
+sensitively polite in the one instance, you might be so in the other.
+One is light red, the other dark red."
+
+"One is an ugly bricky red," persists Gertrude, "and no one would call
+the other red at all."
+
+"I call it red," very positively.
+
+"Very well," says the daughter, angrily, "you cannot make it other than
+the very handsome tint it is, no matter what you call it."
+
+"There has been a very foolish enthusiasm about red hair, I know, but
+that has mostly died out," replies the mother, contemptuously, and
+keeps the last word.
+
+Gertrude actually allows herself to be persuaded into a drive with "the
+children" that afternoon. She and Violet happen to stumble upon a book
+they have both read, a lovely and touching German story, and they
+discuss it thoroughly. Violet is fond of German poems.
+
+"Then you read German?" Gertrude says. "I did a little once, but it was
+such a bore. I haven't the strength for anything but the very lightest
+amusement."
+
+"Oh," Violet exclaims, "it must be dreadful always to be ill and weak!
+Papa was ill a good deal, but he used to get well again, and he was
+nearly always going about!"
+
+"I haven't the strength to go about much."
+
+"I wonder," Violet says, "if you were to take a little drive every day;
+Cecil and I would be so glad."
+
+Gertrude glances into the bright, eager face, with its velvety eyes and
+shining hair. It _is_ beautiful hair, soft and fine as spun silk, and
+curling a little about the low, broad forehead, rippling on the top,
+and gathered into a careless coil at the back that seems almost too
+large for the head. Why are they all going to hate her? she wonders.
+She is more comfortable in the house than madame would be as a
+mistress, and she will never object to anything Floyd chooses to do for
+his mother and sisters. One couldn't feel dependent on Violet, but
+dependence on madame might be made a bitter draught. And if the
+business goes to ruin, there will be no one save Floyd.
+
+Violet reaches over and takes Gertrude's hand. She feels as well as
+sees a certain delicate sympathy in the faded face.
+
+"If you would let me do anything for you," she entreats, in that
+persuasive tone. "I seem of so little use. You know I was kept so busy
+at school."
+
+Gertrude feels that, fascinating as Cecil is with her bright,
+enchanting ways, Violet may be capable of higher enjoyments. For a
+moment she wishes she had some strength and energy, that she might join
+hands with her in the coming struggle.
+
+Indeed, now, the child and Denise are Violet's only companions. Floyd
+is away nearly all day, and writes, it would seem, pretty nearly all
+night. His mind is on other matters, she sees plainly. She has been
+used to her father's abstraction, and does not construe it into any
+slight. But in the great house, large as it is, Mrs. Grandon seems to
+trench everywhere, except in their own apartments. Floyd installed
+Violet in the elegant guest-chamber, but Mrs. Grandon always speaks of
+it as the spare room, or madame's room.
+
+Violet's heart had thrilled at the thought of the exquisite-toned
+piano. She had tried it a day or two after her advent and found it
+locked.
+
+"Do you know who keeps the key?" she had asked timidly of Jane.
+
+"It is Miss Laura's piano," is the concise answer, and no more is said.
+
+But one morning Mr. Grandon asks if Violet can go over to the cottage
+with him. Her lovely eyes are all alight.
+
+"Get your hat, then," he says, as if he were speaking to the child.
+
+Violet starts eagerly. Cecil rises and follows.
+
+"Oh, she may go, too?" the pretty mamma asks.
+
+Floyd nods over his paper. Mrs. Grandon bridles her head loftily.
+
+"Denise has something for us, I know," cries Violet. "We were not there
+yesterday. Poor Denise, she must have missed us, but I did want to
+finish Maysie's dress." Maysie is Cecil's doll, and has had numerous
+accessions to her wardrobe of late.
+
+Grandon has an odd little smile on his face as he looks up. Violet and
+he are friends again when they are not Mr. and Mrs. Grandon. The little
+episode of the wedding journey has faded, or at least has borne no
+further fruit. Yet as the days go on she feels more at home in the
+friendship.
+
+"Oh," she begins, in joyous accents, "you have a surprise for us!" She
+has such a pretty way of bringing in Cecil.
+
+"Perhaps it is Denise."
+
+"It is cream, I know," announces Cecil. Denise's variety of creams is
+inexhaustible.
+
+Grandon smiles again, a sort of good-humored, noncommittal smile.
+
+It is something that pleases him very much, Violet decides, and a
+delicious interest brightens every feature.
+
+Denise welcomes them gladly. Lindmeyer has taken up his lodgings at the
+cottage, but the upper rooms are kept just the same. Grandon leads the
+way and Violet stares at the boxes in the hall. Her room is in a lovely
+tumult of disorder. Bed and chairs are strewn with feminine belongings.
+
+"Oh," she says, uttering a soft, grateful cry. "They have come!
+But--there is so much!" And she looks at him in amazement.
+
+"It is not so bad, after all," he answers, touching the soft garments
+with his fingers, and studying her. There is a lovely dead silk, with
+only a very slight garniture of crape; there is the tenderest gray,
+that looks like a pathetic sigh, and two or three in black, that have
+the air of youth, an indescribable style that only an artist could
+give. But the white ones are marvels. One has deep heliotrope ribbons,
+and another crapy material seems almost alive. There are plain mulls,
+with wide hems, there are gloves and sashes and wraith-like plaitings
+of tulle; a pretty, dainty bonnet and a black chip hat, simple and
+graceful. Madame Vauban has certainly taken into account youth,
+bridehood, and the husband's wishes. Plain they are, perhaps their
+chief beauty lies in their not being overloaded with trimming and
+ornament.
+
+"Oh," she says, "whenever am I to wear them all?" Her black dress has
+done mourning duty so far, but the summer heats have rendered white
+much more comfortable. "They are so very, very lovely!"
+
+Her eyes glisten and her breath comes rapidly. He can see her very
+heart beat, and a faint scarlet flies up in her face, growing deeper
+and deeper, as the sweet red lips tremble.
+
+"You bought them?" she falters, in an agony of shame.
+
+"Should you hate to owe that much to me?" he questions.
+
+"I----"
+
+"My dear girl--Tell her, Denise, that she is quite an heiress, and that
+if all goes well she will one day be very rich. It is your father's
+gift to you, Violet, not mine."
+
+The troublesome scarlet dies away. She comes to him and takes his hand
+in her soft palms. "I would be willing to owe anything to you," she
+says, "but----"
+
+"I owe you the greatest of all; a debt I never can repay, remember
+that, _always_." And drawing her to him he kisses her gently. "And
+now I have about fifteen minutes to spare; try on some of this white
+gear and let me see how you look."
+
+She puts on the white and purple. It has a demi-train, and seems
+fashioned exactly for her figure. He is awaiting her in her father's
+room and looks her over with a critical eye. She is very pretty. She
+can stand comparison now with madame or Laura or any of them. She knows
+he is quite satisfied with her.
+
+"Now," he continues, "Denise must pack them up again and I will send
+them down home. After a week or so there will be visitors. Some day you
+will find yourself Mrs. Grandon. I do not believe you at all realize it
+yet."
+
+She colors vividly. In the great house she is seldom honored by any
+name. Even the servants are not quite determined what respect shall be
+paid her.
+
+Grandon kisses them both and is off. What a pretty, dainty pride the
+girl has! Yet yesterday he sent the check without a thought of demur,
+though Madame Vauban has made the trousseau as costly as circumstances
+and her own reputation will permit. If she is never the heiress he
+hopes she will be, he must be more than thankful then that she is wife
+instead of ward.
+
+Violet spends nearly all the morning arraying herself, to Cecil's
+intense delight. Denise looks on with glistening eyes. She is as
+anxious as Grandon that her young mistress shall hold up her head with
+the best of them.
+
+"But you have a prince for a husband, ma'm'selle," she says.
+
+The prince meanwhile finds matters not so pleasant at the factory. His
+bright mood is confronted with an evident cloud looming up much larger
+than a man's hand. The main hall is filled with workmen standing about
+in groups, with lowering brows and lips set in unflinching resolution,
+as if their wills were strongly centred upon some object to be fought
+for if not gained. Grandon glances at them in surprise, then walks
+firmly through them with no interruption, pauses at the entrance and
+faces them, assured that he is the one they desire to see.
+
+One of the men, sturdy and dark-browed, steps forward, clears his
+throat, and with a half-surly inclination of the head begins, "Mr.
+Grandon," and then something intangible awes him a trifle. They may
+grumble among themselves, and lately they have found it easy to
+complain to Mr. Wilmarth, but the unconscious air of authority, the
+superior breeding, and fine, questioning eyes disconcert the man, who
+pulls himself together with the certainty that this gentleman,
+aristocrat as he is, has no right to set himself at the head of the
+business and tie every one's hands.
+
+"Mr. Grandon," with a sort of rough, sullen courage, "me and my mates
+here are tired of the way things are going on. We can't work under the
+new man. We never had a day's trouble with Mr. Brent, who understood
+his business. We want to know if he is coming back at the end of the
+month; if not----"
+
+"Well, if he is not, what then?" The words ring out clear and incisive.
+
+"Then," angrily, "we'll quit! We've resolved not to work under the new
+one. Either he goes or we will."
+
+"He will not go out until I am quite ready."
+
+"Then, mates, we will knock off. We're willing to come to any
+reasonable terms, Mr. Grandon, and do our best, but we won't stand
+false accusations, and we're tired of this sort of thing."
+
+Floyd Grandon would give a good deal for a glance into the face of
+Rising or Lindmeyer as inspiration for his next word. It is really a
+step in the dark, but he is bound to stand by them.
+
+"Very well," he replies. "When two parties cannot get along amicably,
+it is best to separate."
+
+The men seem rather nonplussed, not expecting so brief and decisive a
+result. They turn lingeringly, stare at each other, and march toward
+Wilmarth's office.
+
+Grandon goes straight to the workroom. Half a dozen men are still at
+their looms.
+
+"O Mr. Grandon!" begins Rising, with a face of the utmost anxiety, but
+Lindmeyer has a half-smile on his lips as he advances, which breaks
+into an unmirthful laugh.
+
+"Quite a strike or an insurrection, with some muttered thunder! I hope
+you let them go; it will be a good day's work if you have."
+
+"What was the trouble?" Grandon's spirits rise a trifle.
+
+"The machinery and the new looms have been tampered with continually,
+just enough to keep everything out of gear. Nearly every improvement,
+you know, has to fight its way through opposition in the beginning. The
+men declare themselves innocent, and puzzled over it, but it certainly
+has been done. There are five excellent weavers left, Rising says."
+
+"I would rather go on with just those a few days, until I am able to
+decide two or three points. And if you don't object, I should like to
+remain here at night."
+
+"And we shall need a watchman. A little preventive, you know, is better
+than a great deal of cure."
+
+Both men take the _emeute_ in such good part that Grandon gains confidence.
+Back of this morning's dispute there has been dissatisfaction and covert
+insolence, and the two are thankful that the end of the trouble is
+reached.
+
+Grandon returns to the office heavy hearted in spite of all. There are
+victories which ruin the conqueror, and even his may be too dearly
+bought.
+
+A knock at the half-open door rouses him, but before he answers he
+knows it is Wilmarth.
+
+"Mr. Grandon," begins that gentleman, with a kind of bitter suavity,
+"may I inquire into the causes that have led to this very unwise
+disturbance among our working forces?"
+
+"I think the men are better able to tell their own story. They made an
+abrupt demand of me that Mr. Rising must be dismissed or they would go.
+Our agreement was for a month's trial, and the month is not ended. I
+stand by my men."
+
+Grandon's voice is slow and undisturbed by any heat of passion.
+
+"But you do not know, perhaps. They were unjustly accused."
+
+"Unjustly?"
+
+That one word in the peculiar tone it is uttered checks Wilmarth
+curiously.
+
+"Mr. Grandon," and he takes a few quick steps up and down the room, "do
+you assume that I have _no_ rights, that you have all the power, judgment,
+and knowledge requisite for a large establishment like this, when it is
+quite foreign to any previous experience of yours? Is no one to be
+allowed a word of counsel or advice? or even to know what schemes or
+plans are going on?"
+
+"Mr. Wilmarth, all that was settled at Mr. Sherburne's office. It was
+decided that, being the executor and trusted agent of my father, and
+also the husband of Miss St. Vincent, gave me the controlling voice,
+and you consented to the month's trial."
+
+"And am I to stand idly by and let you drive the thing to ruin?
+discharge workmen, break contracts, shut up the place, and have no
+voice in the matter?"
+
+"You had a voice then!"
+
+"But you very wisely withheld the outcome of your plans. I should not
+have consented to my own ruin."
+
+"Mr. Wilmarth, if you can decide upon any reasonable price for your
+share, I will purchase it. It cannot be a comfortable feeling to know
+yourself in a sinking ship, with no means of rescue. If you are
+doubtful of success, name your price."
+
+He tries to study the face before him, but the sphinx is not more
+inscrutable. Yet he feels that from some cause Wilmarth hates him, and
+therein he is right. To be thwarted and outgeneralled is what this
+black-browed man can illy bear. To receive a certain sum of money and
+see his rival go on to success, with a comparatively smooth pathway, is
+what he will not do. Floyd Grandon shall purchase his victory at the
+highest, hardest rate.
+
+"I may be doubtful," he begins, in a slow, careful tone, which Floyd
+knows is no index to his real state of mind, "but that does not say I
+am _quite_ despairing. I had the pleasure of working most amicably with
+your father and receiving a fair return on my investment. I have had no
+dissensions with your brother, who is really my working partner. Your
+father was more sanguine of success than I, but I am well aware that if
+business men give up at the first shadow of unsuccess, a wreck is
+certain. I have no desire to leave the ship. The business suits me. At
+my time of life men are not fond of change. What I protest against is,
+that if I, with all my years of experience, find it best to go slowly
+and with care, you shall not precipitate ruin by your ill-judged
+haste."
+
+How much _does_ this man believe? What are his aims and purposes? What
+is under the half-concealed contempt and incredulity? If he has
+cherished the hope of getting the business into his hands he must feel
+assured of success. Floyd Grandon is not a lover of involved or
+intricate motives. He takes the shortest road to any point. Fairness,
+simplicity, and truth are his prevailing characteristics.
+
+"Do you believe honestly that St. Vincent's idea has any of the
+elements of success?" he demands, incisively.
+
+Wilmarth shrugs his shoulders and the useful sneer crosses his face.
+
+"Mr. Grandon," he answers, imperturbably, "I have seen the elements of
+success fail from lack of skilful handling."
+
+"You proposed for the hand of Miss St. Vincent," and then Grandon could
+bite out his tongue if it would recall the words.
+
+"Yes," with half-contemptuous pity. "He had risked everything on the
+success of this, and the poor child would have been left in a sad
+plight. Marriage was rather out of my plans."
+
+"And fate happily relieved you," says Grandon, throwing into his face
+all the enthusiasm and softness of which he is master. "She did for me
+the greatest service; but for her, my days would have been a blank and
+desolation. She saved the life of my child, my little girl," and now he
+has no need to assume gratitude. "I was a witness myself to the heroic
+act, but could not have reached her in time. She was the veriest
+stranger to me then, and aroused within my soul emotions of such deep
+and rare thankfulness that only the devotion of a lifetime can repay."
+
+"Ah, yes," says Wilmarth, "you would naturally take an interest in her
+fortune."
+
+"If you mean by that, wealth," and he feels as if he could throttle the
+man, "I shall care for her interest as I do for my mother, or my
+sisters. Whatever the result, it is all in her hands; I had no need to
+marry for money."
+
+"We have digressed widely," suggests Wilmarth, and he hesitates, a
+little uncertain how to make the next move tell the most cuttingly.
+
+"But you see, with all this in view, I am not likely to rush headlong
+to ruin. I have taken some of the best counsel I could find. My
+experience is that a man who firmly believes in the success of what he
+undertakes is much more likely to succeed, and this Lindmeyer does.
+Rising has had charge of a large factory in England. The least I can do
+is to give them every chance in my power to do their best, and that
+they shall have."
+
+"And the men?"
+
+"They have acted according to their best judgment," and now it is
+Grandon's turn to smile grimly. "They may be mistaken; if so, that is
+their misfortune. I hold steadfastly to _my_ men until the month ends,
+and their success will decide the new arrangements."
+
+Again Jasper Wilmarth has been worsted. When he started the disaffection
+among the men he did not count on its culmination quite so soon, and again
+he has unwittingly played into Floyd Grandon's hands; how fatally he knows
+best himself.
+
+"Then the men are to consider themselves discharged."
+
+"They are to consider that they discharged themselves," says the master
+of the situation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+If you observe us you will find us in our manners and way of living
+most like wasps.--ARISTOPHANES.
+
+
+She sits on the wide, fragrant porch with her lovely stepdaughter,
+watching for the return of her husband and his German friend, with whom
+he has no end of business. Certainly Violet makes a most amiable wife.
+She finds no fault with the all-engrossing business, even in this
+honeymoon month, but contents herself with Cecil and Denise, with rides
+and walks, and days spent at the cottage. Denise instructs her in
+cookery, but she feels as if she should never need the knowledge, since
+Mrs. Grandon _mere_ is at the head of the great house, with servants to
+do her bidding.
+
+Violet is musing now over a talk had with Gertrude this afternoon. She
+was trying to persuade her to join them for a drive. It seems such a
+dreary life to lie here on the sofa when there is the wide, glowing out
+of doors.
+
+"Our quiet times will soon come to an end," says Gertrude,
+complainingly. "Marcia returns presently, and Laura will no doubt come
+back for a visit, but we are rid of her as a permanency," and she
+flavors her speech with a bitter little laugh.
+
+"What is Laura like? She is only a year older than I," rejoins Violet.
+
+"But ten years wiser. She has achieved the great aim of a woman's
+life,--a rich husband."
+
+Violet colors delicately. _She_ has a rich husband, but it was no aim
+of her life.
+
+"What is Marcia like?" she inquires, timidly.
+
+"She will fret you to death in a week, a faded flirt with the air of
+sixteen, who sets up for a genius. Get her married if you can. It is
+fortunate that there is some dispensation of fate to take people out of
+your way."
+
+"I never had a sister," Violet says, half regretfully.
+
+"Well, you will have enough of us," is the rejoinder. "Though I shall
+try to make no trouble. A book and a sofa satisfy me."
+
+"Were you always ill? And you must have been pretty! You would be
+pretty now if you had some color and clearness, such as exercise would
+give you."
+
+Gertrude is comforted by the naive compliment. No one ever praises her
+now.
+
+"I was pretty to some one a long while ago," she says, pathetically.
+
+It suggests a lover. "Oh, do tell me!" cries Violet, kneeling by the
+sofa. Marriage is marriage, of course, and Denise has instructed her in
+its duties, but is not love something accidental, not always happening
+in the regular sequence?
+
+"It is not much," confesses Gertrude, "but it once was a great deal to
+me. I was engaged, and we loved each other dearly. I was soon to be
+married, the very first of them all, but _he_ went wrong and had to go
+away in disgrace. It broke my heart!"
+
+"Oh!" and Violet kisses her, with tears on her cheek. No wonder she is
+so sad and spiritless.
+
+"I don't mind now. Perhaps it would have been no end of a bother, and
+I'm not fond of children. Cecil is the least troublesome of any I ever
+saw, but I couldn't have her about all the time, as you do. Yes, it
+seemed at first as if I must die," she says, in a curious
+past-despairing tone.
+
+"He may come back," suggests Violet.
+
+"Oh, no! And then one couldn't be disgraced, you know! But it was mean
+for Laura always to be flaunting her good fortune in my face. I'm glad
+she is married, and I only wish Marcia was going off. We could settle
+to comfort the rest of our lives."
+
+Violet is thinking of this brief, blurred story, and wondering how it
+would seem to love anyone very much beforehand. She has been trained to
+believe that love follows duty as an obedient handmaid. She likes Mr.
+Grandon very much. He is so good and tender, but of course he loves the
+child the best. Violet is not a whit jealous, for she does not know
+what love really is in its depth and strength. But it is a mystery, a
+sort of forbidden fruit to her, and yet she would like one taste of what
+
+    "Some have found so sweet."
+
+The carriage-wheels crumble her revery to fine sand. She is not sure
+whether it is proper to come forward, and there are two more in the
+carriage, a bright, beautiful woman that she fancies is Madame
+Lepelletier.
+
+Mrs. Grandon does not leave her in doubt as she hastens forward with a
+really glad exclamation.
+
+"My dear Laura!"
+
+"Wasn't it odd?" says dear Laura. "We really were not meaning to come
+up to-day, our hands were so full, but we met Floyd on Broadway, and
+here we are."
+
+She steps out, stylish, graceful, with that unmistakable society air
+some people never acquire. She is dressed in a soft black and white
+checked silk, so fine that it is gray, her chip bonnet is of the same
+color, with its wreath of gray flowers, and her gloves are simply
+exquisite. All this seems to set off her fine eyes and brilliant
+complexion.
+
+Violet catches her husband's eye and joins them, with Cecil by the
+hand. Floyd looks her over. He has allowed himself an uneasy misgiving
+for the last half-hour, for Violet's dress is usually so
+unconventional. But she is in one of her new toilets, a soft, clinging
+material, with the least touch of tulle at the throat and wrist, and a
+cluster of white roses at her belt; simple, yet refined, with a
+delicate grace that savors of Paris.
+
+The introductions follow. There is Prof. Freilgrath, quite different
+from their old, round, bald German teacher. He is tall and
+martial-looking, with a fine head, and hair on the auburn tint, a
+little curling and thin at the edge of the high forehead. His eyes are
+light blue, keen, good-humored, and he wears glasses; his nose is
+large, his mouth rather wide, but his teeth are perfect. His English
+has a very slight accent, and he impresses one with scholarly ways at
+once. Arthur Delancy, a very good-looking young man, seems rather
+insignificant beside him. Violet experiences a thrill of negative
+preference; she is glad it was not her fate to become Mrs. Delancy.
+
+Some one invites them within.
+
+"Oh, no," responds the professor. "Mrs. Grandon knows what is
+delightful; let us follow her example and sit here on the porch. You
+Americans are indoors quite too much. And I want to see the child, Mr.
+Grandon's pretty daughter."
+
+"I must be excused then," declares Laura. "They may entertain you,
+Arthur, but I must see mamma and take off my bonnet."
+
+The others seat themselves in the bamboo veranda chairs. Cecil is
+seized with a fit of shyness, which proves coaxable, however. Violet
+feels compelled, as sole lady, to be entertaining, and acquits herself
+so well that in a few moments her husband forgets his recent anxiety
+about her.
+
+Laura follows her mother up-stairs.
+
+"What did possess Floyd to make such an utter fool of himself?" she
+asks. "When you wrote, I was struck dumb! That little--ninny!"
+
+"You have just hit it. A girl who still plays with dolls, and who
+learned nothing in a convent but to count beads and embroider trumpery
+lace," says the mother, contemptuously.
+
+"And he might have had Madame Lepelletier! She has been _such_ a
+success at Newport, and she will be just the envy of New York this
+winter! She is going to take a furnished house,--the Ascotts'. They are
+to spend the winter in Paris, and Mrs. Latimer says the house is lovely
+as an Eastern dream. I never _can_ forgive him. And he offered her to
+Eugene."
+
+"Offered her to Eugene!" repeats the mother.
+
+"Yes. He had hardly reached Lake George when the Grand Seigneur
+insisted upon his coming back and espousing Miss St. Vincent,--very
+Frenchy, was it not? But Eugene did not mean to be burdened with a dead
+weight all his life. We have had enough botherment with that miserable
+patent, not to have a beggarly girl thrust upon us!"
+
+Mrs. Grandon is struck dumb now. Eugene has missed a fortune. Why does
+everything drop into Floyd's hands?
+
+"I don't know about that," she answers. "It is a wretched choice for
+Floyd; she is a mere child compared to him, and she would have done
+better for Eugene. The patent is likely to prove a success; in that
+case the St. Vincent fortune is not to be despised."
+
+"O mamma, Mr. Wilmarth assured Eugene that Floyd never _could_ get back
+the money he was sinking in it. He _must_ know. You do not suppose
+Floyd was counting on _that_ chance, do you?"
+
+"I don't know what he was counting on," says the mother, angrily; "only
+he seems to take the best of everything."
+
+"But fancy Eugene marrying to order!" and Laura laughs lightly. "I
+believe it was a plan of Mr. St. Vincent's in the first place. Well,
+the silly little thing is not much to look at! Mamma, do you know this
+Prof. Freilgrath is a great German _savant_ and traveller? He and Floyd
+have been writing a book together about Egypt or Africa or the Nile.
+Mr. Latimer's club is to give him an elegant reception. Mrs. Latimer
+met him while they were at Berlin three years ago, when he had just
+come from some wonderful explorations. Oh, if Madame Lepelletier were
+only here, she would make Floyd one of the lions of the day! What an
+awful pity he is tied to that child! And it was so mean of him not to
+come to Newport, as he promised! The whole thing is inscrutable!"
+
+"It was a hurried, tangled-up mess! I don't pretend to understand it. I
+don't believe he cares for her, but the thing is done," the mother
+says, desperately.
+
+"I _was_ curious to see her, and when Floyd asked us so cordially
+to come I would have put off everything. We are to go back again
+to-morrow, and I am delighted to meet the professor, not that I care
+much for the Nile or the ruins of buried cities, unless some rare and
+beautiful jewelry comes to light," and she laughs. "My bracelets have
+been the envy of half Newport. I wonder---- But I suppose Floyd will
+save the rest of his 'trumpery' for her! You have not been deposed, _ma
+mere_!"
+
+The set expression in Mrs. Grandon's face indicates that deposing her
+would be a rather difficult matter.
+
+Laura meanwhile has washed her face and done her hair. She rummages in
+a drawer for some fresh laces she remembers to have left behind, and
+makes herself quite elegant. As they go down-stairs Mrs. Grandon slips
+the key in the piano, and then makes inquiries concerning the dinner.
+
+The "foolish little thing" in her pretty willow rocker has made herself
+entertaining to the German professor, who is not long in finding that
+she is quite well read in orthodox German literature, except the poets,
+and there her teacher has allowed a wide range. She is yet too young
+for it to have touched her soul, but her eyes promise a good deal when
+the soul shall be really awakened. And he thinks of the story his
+friend has told, of her saving his little girl, and pays her a true,
+fervent admiration that puzzles Laura extremely. Violet does not get on
+so well with Mr. Delancy, for she knows nothing of society life.
+
+But Laura can "shine her down," and does it speedily. Cecil is sitting
+on her papa's knee, and he is very content until he finds presently
+that Violet has lapsed into silence. Laura has the talk with both
+gentlemen, and is bringing them together in the clever way known to a
+society woman. Then they are summoned to dinner. Arthur takes Violet;
+the professor, Laura; and here Gertrude makes a sort of diversion and
+has the sympathy of both gentlemen.
+
+The evening is very pleasant. Grandon will not have his shy Violet
+quite ignored, and yet he feels that she is not able to make much
+headway against the assumptions of society. He realizes that his place
+will be considerably in the world of letters, and that has come to be a
+world of fashion. Wealth and culture are being bridged over by so many
+things, artistic, aesthetic, and in a certain degree intellectual, one
+has to hold fast to one's footing not to be swept over. If there was
+some one to train Violet a little! He cannot understand why the family
+will not take to her cordially.
+
+Laura is thinking of this handsome house and the really superior man
+at its head, for she has to admit that Floyd has dignity, ability,
+character, and if he is coming out as a genius he will be quite the
+style. There is one woman who could do the honors perfectly,--madame,--and
+she feels as if she could almost wring the life out of the small
+nonentity who has usurped her place, for of course Floyd would soon
+have cared for madame if she had not come between.
+
+"It was brought about by a silly romance," she tells madame afterward.
+"The child had run away from her nurse and was scrambling down some
+rocks when she caught her, it seems, and Floyd, coming up just that
+moment, insisted she had saved Cecil's life. Very dramatic, wasn't it?
+And Cecil is quite idiotic over her. I think she would make an
+excellent nursery governess. She is just out of a convent, and has no
+manners, really, but is passable as to looks. Mamma insists that her
+hair is red, but it is just the color the Ascotts rave over. Mrs.
+Ascott would be wild to paint her, so I am glad they will be off to
+Paris without seeing her. She is in deep mourning and can't go into
+society. I shall make Floyd understand that. But to think of her having
+that splendid place in her hands!"
+
+To do Madame Lepelletier justice, she thinks more of the master than of
+the place, and hates Violet without seeing her, because she has won
+Cecil's love.
+
+In the morning Mr. and Mrs. Delancy are compelled to make their adieus.
+Laura goes off with an airiness that would do Marcia credit, and avoids
+any special farewell with her new sister-in-law. The professor remains,
+and spying out the piano asks leave to open it.
+
+"It is locked, I believe," says Violet, hesitatingly.
+
+Floyd lifts the cover and looks at his wife in astonishment.
+
+"It was locked," she says, defending herself from the incredulous
+expression, "the morning after I came here,--and--I thought--the piano
+is Laura's," she concludes.
+
+"Did you try it more than once?" he asks.
+
+"Yes." She blushes pitifully, but her honesty will not allow her to
+screen herself to him. "You must never let him think a wrong thing
+about you," says Denise, in her code of instructions.
+
+It is not at all as she imagines. He is amazed that any member of his
+family would do so small a thing as to exclude her from the use of the
+piano.
+
+"Well," he says, "you shall have one of your own as soon as Laura can
+take hers away."
+
+"Oh!" Her sweet face is suddenly illumined. How delightful it will be
+through the long days when papa is away! She can begin to give Cecil
+lessons.
+
+"I suppose you are all for Beethoven," the professor is saying. "Young
+people find such melody in 'Songs without Words.' But I want you to
+listen to this nocturne of Chopin's, though it is not a morning song."
+
+Violet listens entranced. Floyd watches her face, where the soft lights
+come and go. If she could always look like that!
+
+But Freilgrath cannot spend the whole morning at the piano. They are to
+drive around, to see the place and the factory, to arrange some plans
+for work.
+
+"Cannot the pretty mother and child go?" he asks.
+
+"Why, yes," Floyd answers, pleased with the notion.
+
+They stop at the cottage, which the German thinks a charming nook, then
+drive on to the factory. Violet and Cecil remain within while the two
+men make a tour of inspection. Floyd's spirits have risen many degrees
+in the past week. The machinery has worked to a charm, and demonstrated
+much that St. Vincent claimed for it. There seems no reasonable doubt
+of its success. Rising will be retained, and is empowered to hire any
+of the old hands who will come back and obey orders. Several have given
+in their allegiance, and some others are halting through a feeling of
+indignation at being falsely accused. But the fact is patent now that
+all along there has been a traitor or traitors in the camp.
+
+Violet sits there in the carriage talking to Cecil, half wrapped in a
+fluffy white shawl. She is just in range of a window, and the man
+watching her feels that Floyd Grandon has more than his share of this
+world's favors. What has life done for _him_? asks Jasper Wilmarth
+with bitter scorn. Given him a crooked, unhandsome body, a lowering
+face, with its heavy brows and square, rugged features. No woman has
+ever cared for him, no woman would ever worship him, while dozens no
+doubt would allow Grandon to ride rough-shod over them if he only
+smiled afterward. He has come to hate the man so that if he could
+ordain any evil upon him he would gladly.
+
+He has dreamed of being master here, and yet in the beginning it was
+not all treachery. Eugene Grandon was taking it rapidly to ruin, and he
+raised no hand to stay. From the first he has had a secret hope in St.
+Vincent's plans, but there was no one to carry them out. When the elder
+son came home the probability was, seeing the dubious state of affairs,
+he would wash his hands of the whole matter, and it would go, as many a
+man's life work had before, for a mere song. In this collapse he would
+take it with doubt and feigned unwillingness, and calling in the best
+talent to be had, would do his utmost to make it a success. But all
+this had been traversed by the vigilant brain of another.
+
+If that were all! He had also dreamed of the fair girl sitting yonder.
+A mere child, trained to respect and belief in her elders, and
+obedience of the Old World order, secluded from society, from young
+men, her gratitude might be worked upon as well as her father's fears
+for her future. Once his wife, he would move heaven and earth for her
+love. She should be kept in luxury, surrounded by everything that could
+rouse tenderness and delight; she should be the star of his life, and
+he would be her very slave. There were instances of Proserpine loving
+her dark-browed Pluto, and sharing his world. Wilmarth had brooded over
+this until it seemed more than probable,--certain.
+
+And here his antagonist has come with his inexorable "check!" A perfect
+stranger, with no hatred in his soul, only set upon by fate to play
+strange havoc with another's plans, to circumvent without even knowing
+what he did. If the place had to pass into other hands, as well his as
+a stranger's, he has reasoned.
+
+He was as well off as if Mr. James Grandon were alive, and he had not
+railed at fate then. It was because he had seen possibilities, the
+awful temptations of human souls. It is when the weak place is touched
+as by a galvanic shock that in the glare of the light we see what might
+be done, and yield, fearing that another walking over the same road
+will pause and gather the price of some betrayal of honor, while we
+look back with envy, the envy of the tempted, not the unassailable.
+
+And because Violet St. Vincent sits there in another man's carriage,
+this other man's wife, he feels that he has been defrauded of something
+he might have won with the better side of his nature, which will never
+be called out now. They will go on prospering; there is no further
+reason why he should bend a wire, slip a cog, or delay the hurrying
+wheels. Since Grandon has achieved all, then let them make money, money
+for which he has little use.
+
+Cecil gets tired, and Violet tells her a story. They are almost to the
+end when the gentlemen come, but Cecil is exigeant, and the professor
+politely insists. He is fond of even the fag-end of a story, so that it
+turns out well; and then he will entertain the little miss. Violet
+finishes with blushes that make her more charming every moment; and
+Grandon finds a strange stirring in his soul as he watches this pretty
+girl. He is glad she is his. Some time, when the cares of life press
+less heavily, they two will take a holiday and learn to know each other
+better than mere surface friends.
+
+Herr Freilgrath certainly makes an unwonted interest in the great
+house. He is so genial, he has that overflowing, tolerant nature
+belonging to an ample frame and good digestion, he has inexhaustible
+sympathy, and an unfailing love of nature. The two men settle
+themselves to work in the tower room, and for hours are left
+undisturbed, but the early evenings are devoted to social purposes.
+Even Gertrude is compelled to join the circle, and Violet, whose tender
+heart is brooding over the lost and slain love, is so glad to see her
+roused a little.
+
+Freilgrath discovers one day that Violet is a really admirable German
+scholar. There are some translations to make, and she is so glad to be
+of service. Cecil objects and pouts a little in her pretty child's
+fashion. At this her father speaks sharply, and Violet turns, with the
+same look she wore on her face the day of the accident. It is almost as
+if she said, "You shall not scold her." Is he losing then the right in
+his own child? And yet she looks so seductively daring that he smiles,
+softens, and kisses Cecil in a passion of tenderness.
+
+"You will spoil her," he says, in a low tone.
+
+If they could go on this way forever! But one morning brings Marcia,
+and the same evening Eugene, who is jaunty, handsome, and with a
+careless fascination that seems his most liberal inheritance. It is a
+very warm September evening, and Violet has put on one of her pretty
+white gowns that has a train, and has a knot of purple pansies at her
+throat. The elbow sleeves show her pretty dimpled arm and slender
+wrist, and her hair is a little blown about as he comes up the steps
+and sees her leaning on the balcony rail. What a pretty vision! Have
+they guests at the house?
+
+She knows him from his picture and comes forward. He guesses then who
+it is, but certainly Laura has not done her half justice.
+
+"Mrs. Floyd Grandon!" bowing with infinite grace.
+
+She smiles at the odd sound of the name she so seldom hears.
+
+"Yes."
+
+He takes the soft, warm hand in his and is tempted to press it to his
+lips, but wisely refrains.
+
+His mother has seen this little tableau from the window and comes out.
+Even now, if Violet were Eugene's wife, she could forgive her, quite
+forgetting that it is not so much her fault or her election.
+
+The delightful harmony comes to a sudden end. That very evening another
+spirit reigns, a something intangible that makes Violet shrink into
+silence, and Floyd uneasy. Even Gertrude is less social. Marcia has a
+curious faculty of making people uncomfortable, of saying wrong things,
+of being obtrusive. She quite takes possession of the professor, and he
+hardly knows how to understand her small vanities and delusions, and is
+glad when the dainty French clock tolls nine, as that is their hour for
+working. Cecil has been remaining up, much against her grandmamma's
+wishes, who would have an argument every evening on the subject if she
+could. So Violet takes the child by the hand and wishes them good
+night, the gentlemen go to their study, Marcia flits away, and Eugene
+is left with his mother.
+
+"Upon my word," he says, "I had no idea the St. Vincent was such good
+form. Floyd has the lucky card everywhere. Is it really true the patent
+is a success and that there are fortunes in it?"
+
+"Eugene," his mother begins, severely, "it would have been much better
+for you to have stayed at home instead of wasting time and money as you
+have done this summer! The lucky card, as you call it, is only taking
+advantage of circumstances, and if you are going to let Floyd rule
+everything----"
+
+"Well, what can I help? I had no money to bolster up affairs! Wilmarth
+was awfully blue. I didn't suppose anything could be made of the
+business, it was in such a muddle. And it couldn't now, mother, if
+Floyd had not sunk thousands; I don't see how he expects to get it back
+if _we_ have anything."
+
+"You threw away your chance!" She must say this, much as she loves him.
+
+"But how could I know that she was pretty and lady-like, and would not
+mortify a man with her blunders? You do not suppose Floyd is really in
+love with her?"
+
+"He had the wisdom to marry her," she responds, tartly, loath even now
+to hear her praised. "It gives him as much interest in the business
+as--well, more than _you_ take."
+
+"I should like to take his money and let him manage it all, since he
+has turned into such a splendid hand."
+
+"And what would you do?"
+
+"Why, live on my money." And the young man laughs lightly.
+
+His mother feels at that instant as if her whole life was wasted, her
+affection despoiled. Eugene is careless, heartless, and yet she cannot
+in a moment change the habit of her motherhood and unlove him. She
+feels that he cares very little for their welfare, that for everything
+she must depend upon her eldest son, and the dependence is bitter. It
+should not be so, and yet she has been curiously jealous of Floyd since
+the day Aunt Marcia took him under her wing. He has so much, the rest
+will have such a trifle in comparison! Yet she feels sure it would slip
+through Eugene's fingers in no time and leave him a poor man again. But
+our inclination does not always follow our judgment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+For two enemies the world is too small, for two friends a needle's eye
+is large enough.--BULWER.
+
+
+The brothers spend nearly all of the next morning in the factory. Floyd
+has left his substitute with the professor, and sent Cecil to ride, so
+that she shall not distract Violet's attention. He tries to explain to
+Eugene all that he has done, the money he has advanced, and the future
+that seems possible. "It will be a long pull," he says, "but when you
+get through, the result will be a handsome business. Three years ought
+to do it."
+
+"Three years," Eugene repeats, with a sigh.
+
+For a moment Floyd is provoked. Does Eugene never expect to put his
+shoulder to the wheel, to take any real care? Must he fight the matter
+through for them all? But then, there is Violet.
+
+"I shall expect you to take some part of the business, Eugene, and keep
+to it. Wilmarth is admirable in his department. He is getting out new
+patterns, and now that he is really convinced of success he will no
+doubt throw all his energies into it. Will you keep the books and look
+after the correspondence? I have so much work of my own to do, and we
+must economize all we can."
+
+"Well," indolently, "don't expect too much of me."
+
+"How would you like to travel, then?" asks Floyd. "Father, I find, did
+a good deal himself."
+
+"The travelling would be jolly, but I may as well be honest. I've no
+knack of selling."
+
+"Then begin at the books," returns the elder, decisively. "You ought to
+be able to do a man's work somewhere."
+
+"When I made such a blunder about the fortune, eh?" he says, with a
+half-smile. "Were you really caught, Floyd?"
+
+Floyd Grandon is sorely tempted to knock down this handsome, insolent
+fellow, even if he is a brother. Oh, if he never had offered Violet to
+him!
+
+"What I wrote first," he says, "was at her father's desire. Then she
+did for me a favor of such magnitude that my whole life will not be
+long enough to repay, but honor led me to be fair to you, or I never
+should have written a second time. Remember that she is my chosen wife,
+and forget all the rest."
+
+There is something in the tone that awes the young man, though long
+afterward he recalls the fact that Floyd did not say he loved her. But
+he is sobered a little and promises to make himself useful. Floyd has
+no faith in him or his word. What a heavy burthen it all is!
+
+Laura comes up again, and is all excitement. They are staying at a
+hotel and Madame Lepelletier is with them, but she is going into her
+house in a few days, and the Delancys hardly know whether to board or
+to have a home of their own. There are her beautiful wedding gifts, and
+there is the pleasure of giving dinners and teas! She discusses it with
+her mother and Marcia. Eugene, whose advice is not asked, says, "Have a
+house of your own by all means. Nothing is so independent as a king in
+his castle."
+
+Violet does not grow any nearer to her new relatives, excepting
+Gertrude, who has a latent, flabby sense of justice that rouses her now
+and then when the talk runs too high. There seems to be a grievance all
+around. If Floyd married her for her fortune, then it is a most
+shamefully mercenary piece of business; if he married her for a
+mistress to his home, madame would have been so much more admirable
+every way, especially now that Floyd is likely to become an attractive
+and notable member of society.
+
+"Everybody wants to see him," declares Laura, much aggrieved. "Mr.
+Latimer was talking yesterday. I think they will give him a dinner. And
+this house ought to be a sort of headquarters,--made really celebrated,
+you know. I like a good supper and a German, but it _is_ the fashion to
+be literary. Everybody travels and writes a book, and just now all
+these queer old things have come around. I don't care a penny how long
+the world has stood or what people did two thousand years ago; my good
+time is _now_, but we must keep in the stream. I count myself a very
+fortunate girl. I can have all that is best in fashion through Mrs.
+Vandervoort, and all that is intellectual through Mrs. Latimer, so you
+see I come in for both. Then if Floyd had married Madame Lepelletier,
+there would have been another set here. But that little dowdy, who
+doesn't even know how to dress decently! Common respect ought to teach
+her about mourning!"
+
+"Her trousseau ought to be right; it was made by Madame Vauban,"
+interposes Gertrude.
+
+"Madame Vauban! Never!" ejaculates Laura, in quite a dramatic tone.
+
+"But I tell you it was! And Floyd had all the ordering, I dare say. He
+isn't fond of mourning."
+
+"And the paying, too," sneers Laura.
+
+"Well, she has the cottage, and if Floyd is going to make such a
+fortune for her, he _could_ pay himself back, granting he did spend
+_his_ money, which I very much doubt."
+
+"The fortune is yet to be made," retorts Laura, with a superior air.
+"There may never be any. _We_ may not ever get _our_ own."
+
+"Then," says Gertrude, poising her weapon steadily, "he bought _your_
+wedding clothes as well."
+
+"He is _my_ brother. I should look well asking Arthur to pay such
+bills."
+
+"Do let them alone," exclaims Gertrude, angrily. "You married to please
+yourself, and so did he."
+
+"_If_ he did. I only hope there may be enough in it to keep him
+pleased. The marriage is utterly incongruous every way."
+
+Gertrude relapses into silence and her book. Why can they not be
+peaceable and let each other alone? It was so pleasant before they all
+came home.
+
+Marcia soon nurses up a grievance. Why is a mere child like Violet to
+be allowed to spend hours with this wonderful professor, pretending to
+translate or copy, while she, who has actually translated poems for
+publication, is kept outside of the charmed circle? How delightful it
+would be to say, "My dear, I am so busy translating with Prof.
+Freilgrath for his new book that I have not a moment for calls." She
+does not cordially like the professor. He has very little appreciation
+of art, _her_ art, and when one evening she took great pains to explain
+an ambitious scheme, he said, "O Miss Marcia, such a thing would be
+quite impossible! You would want years of thorough training before you
+could attempt it. I should advise something less arduous and better
+suited to a young lady's desultory pursuits. You have no idea of
+intense study."
+
+"Floyd," she says, one morning, "why cannot I help with copying or
+translating? I should be glad to do something."
+
+"Oh," he answers, carelessly, "Violet is able to do all, and satisfies
+the professor perfectly."
+
+The professor has come to feel the flurry of unrest in the air. These
+ladies of fashion cannot understand he is here now to work, not to be
+entertained.
+
+"Mrs. Grandon," he says, one afternoon, as Violet folds the notes she
+has been making and puts them in their place,--she is so orderly and
+exact it is a pleasure to watch her,--"Mrs. Grandon, I have been
+thinking of a plan, and your husband allows me to consult you. I should
+like to take your cottage for the autumn. It is so charmingly situated,
+so quiet, and your old housekeeper is a treasure. The ground floor
+would be sufficient, and nothing would need be disturbed. Some time I
+might ask up a friend or two, and you could come over; the exercise
+would be beneficial. You grow quite too pale with so much work."
+
+"Why, yes," replies Violet, with a rift of pleasure. She would like
+having him there, and it would be pleasant for Denise to prepare meals
+and keep house regularly. And the change for her, the absolute getting
+away from this unfriendly atmosphere. "You may have it, certainly."
+
+"Thank you. Can you go over and make arrangements? We both need a
+little exercise, and we have been beautifully industrious. I do not
+know what I should do without your swift fingers. Will I order the
+carriage?"
+
+As Violet is dressing herself, an uncomfortable wonder enters her mind.
+She hears a good deal of talk about propriety, and she does not know
+whether she ought to do this alone. Even Cecil is out with Jane. She
+must ask Denise, but alas, she cannot get at her now. Gertrude is kind
+to her, and she might--
+
+Violet runs down stairs and relates her perplexity.
+
+"Of course you can," says Gertrude. "Married women go anywhere."
+
+"But if you only would!" beseechingly. "And you have never seen the
+cottage. Oh, please do!" And she kneels down, taking the nerveless
+hands in hers.
+
+Gertrude considers. She hates to be disturbed, but her book is
+unusually stupid, and Violet's eager, winsome face is irresistible. How
+can they say she is not pretty? And if there is the slightest question
+they will find no end of fault. She groans.
+
+"I know it is asking a good deal, but it would make me so happy, so
+comfortable."
+
+"And you are such a dear little thing!"
+
+"Do you really think so? Oh, if you could care about me," and the
+entreaty in the voice touches the heart of the elder as nothing has in
+a long while.
+
+"I will go," returns Gertrude, with unwonted decision. "I will be quick
+about changing my dress. There is the carriage."
+
+Gertrude is not much improved by her mourning. She looks less deathly
+and washed out in the soft white gowns, but there is a languid grace
+about her that, after all, moves the professor's sympathy. "It is a
+better face than the other one," he thinks; "not so silly and
+self-sufficient." He is ever entertaining, unless deeply preoccupied,
+and now he addresses most of his conversation to her, and is friendly
+solicitous about her comfort and her health. "There are such delightful
+baths in Germany. Is there nothing like them in America?" he asks.
+
+"They are really so," Gertrude answers. "We were in Germany once, when
+my health first began to break."
+
+"In Germany?" With that he brightens up and questions her, and Violet
+is pleased that she answers with interest. She so pities poor Gertrude,
+with her broken-off love story, and she helps the conversation with now
+and then a trenchant bit of her own that does not lead it away. She is
+so generous in this respect. She has not come to the time of life when
+one wishes to amass, or is it that she has not seen anything she
+covets?
+
+The professor is satisfied with every room. If they can put in a bed he
+will sleep here, and take this for his workroom. The parlor is still
+left for the entertainment of guests. Here is a porch and a rather
+steep flight of steps, where he can run up and down when he wants a
+whiff of the cool river breeze or a stroll along the shore. Violet
+explains to Denise that Prof. Freilgrath will want some meals. "You
+know all about those odd foreign soups and dishes," she says, with her
+pretty air. "And I shall come over every day to write or to read. You
+can't think what a business woman I have become."
+
+Denise raises her eyebrows a little. "And Mr. Grandon?" she asks.
+
+"Oh, I expect he will never want to come back home! Denise, wouldn't it
+be lovely if we lived here, with Cecil? I wish he might want to," in
+her incoherent eagerness. "It will be another home to us, you see,
+where I shall feel quite free. Why, I could even come in the kitchen
+and cook a dish!"
+
+With that she laughs delightedly, her sweet young face in a glow.
+
+The visitors go up-stairs to see the prospect, which is lovely from the
+upper windows. "This is--this was papa's room," correcting herself. She
+does not think of him any more as in the grave, but in that other
+wonderful country with the one he loves so dearly.
+
+"Denise," she says, one day, shocking the old woman, "why should I wear
+black clothes when papa is so happy? It is almost as if he had gone to
+Europe to meet mamma. Sometimes I long to have him back, then it seems
+as if I envied her, when she only had him three years, so long ago. Why
+should any one be miserable if I went to them both?"
+
+"You talk wildly, child," answers Denise, quite at loss for an
+argument.
+
+But now, when they come down, Denise has a cup of tea, some delicious
+bread and butter, cream cheese that she can make to perfection, and a
+dish of peaches. Violet is as surprised as they, and rejoices to play
+hostess. They are in the midst of this impromptu picnic when Grandon
+looks in the doorway, and laughs with the light heart of a boy.
+
+"I was coming to talk with Denise," he says.
+
+"I have made my bargain," the professor answers, in a tone of elation.
+"It is delightful. I shall be so charmed that I shall lose the zest of
+the traveller and become a hermit. I shall invite my friends to royal
+feasts."
+
+Violet has poured a cup of tea and motions to Floyd, who comes to sit
+beside her. She is so alluring in her youth and freshness that he
+sometimes wishes there was no marriage tie between them, and they could
+begin over again.
+
+"Whatever happened to you, Gertrude?" he asks. "I am amazed that
+tea-drinking has such a tempting power."
+
+"The fraulein is to come often," says Freilgrath, lapsing into his
+native idiom. "It has done her good already; her eyes have brightened.
+She stays within doors too much."
+
+Gertrude's wan face flushes delicately.
+
+When they reach home the dinner-bell rings, and they all feel like
+truants who have been out feasting on forbidden fruit.
+
+The next day the professor moves, but he promises to come down every
+evening. Marcia is intensely surprised, and Mrs. Grandon rather
+displeased. It is some plot of Violet's she is quite sure, especially
+as Floyd takes his wife over nearly every day. Curiously enough
+Gertrude rouses herself to accompany them frequently. They shall not
+find unnecessary fault with Violet. Denise enjoys it all wonderfully,
+and when the professor sits out on the kitchen porch and smokes, her
+cup of happiness is full.
+
+Then he goes to the city for several days. There is the club reception
+to the noted traveller, and though Laura would enjoy a German much
+more, she does not care to miss this. Madame Lepelletier is invited
+also, but she is arranging her house and getting settled, and this
+evening has a convenient headache. There are several reasons why she
+does not care to go, although she is planning to make herself one of
+the stars for the coming winter.
+
+She has had occasion to write two or three business notes to Floyd
+Grandon since she said farewell to him, and they have been models in
+their way. In his first reply, almost at the end, he had said, "Laura,
+I suppose, has informed you of my marriage. It was rather an unexpected
+step, and would not have occurred so suddenly but for Mr. St. Vincent's
+fatal illness."
+
+In her next note she spoke of it in the same grave manner, hoping he
+would find it for his happiness, and since then no reference has been
+made to it. From Laura she has heard all the family dissatisfactions
+and numberless descriptions of Violet. From Eugene she has learned that
+Miss Violet was offered to him, and there is no doubt in her mind but
+that she was forced upon Floyd. She cannot forgive him for his
+reticence those last few days, but her patience is infinite. The wheel
+of fate revolves, happily; it can never remain at one event, but must
+go on to the next. The Ascotts' house is a perfect godsend to her, and
+her intimacy with Mrs. Latimer a wise dispensation. They are all
+charmed with her; it could not be otherwise, since she is a perfect
+product of society. She hires her servants and arranges her house,
+which is certainly a model of taste and beauty, but she wishes to give
+it her own individuality.
+
+Mrs. Grandon has written to invite her up to the park, and Laura has
+begged her to accompany her and see the idiotic thing Floyd has made
+his wife. She is gratified to know they had all thought of her and feel
+disappointed, but she means they shall all come to her first, and this
+is why she will not meet Floyd Grandon at his friend's reception. There
+is another cause of offence in the fact that through a two months'
+acquaintance he should never have mentioned his own aims and plans and
+achievements. If she could only have guessed this! She is mortified at
+her own lack of discernment.
+
+Laura is in the next morning. Madame has chosen a gown that throws a
+pallid shade over her complexion, and she has just the right degree of
+languor.
+
+"Oh," she declares, "you have come to make me wretched, I see it in
+your blooming, triumphant face! You had a positively grand evening with
+all your _savants_ and people of culture. Is your German a real lion in
+society, or only in his native wilds?"
+
+"Well, I think he is a real lion," with a fashionable amount of
+hesitation. "You positively do look ill, you darling, and I was not at
+all sure about the headache last night."
+
+"Did you suppose--why, I could have sent an excuse if I had not wanted
+to go," and madame opens her eyes with a tint of amaze. "Everybody else
+was there, of course. Did your brother bring his wife? A reception is
+not a party."
+
+"He had better taste than that, my dear. He would not even bring
+Marcia, though she was dying to come. It was for the very _creme_,
+you know. I'm not frantically in love with such things, only the name
+of having gone. Do you know that Floyd is rather of the leonine order?
+Isn't it abominable that he should have made such a social blunder? The
+only comfort is, she is or ought to be in deep mourning, and cannot go
+out anywhere. Why, we gave up all invitations last winter."
+
+"I wonder, Laura dear, if I would dare ask a favor of your mother? It
+might be a little rest and change, and yet--I am just selfish enough to
+consider my own pleasure; I should like to invite her down for a
+fortnight, and give two or three little spreads, don't you young people
+call them? You see I am not quite up in slang. A dinner and one or two
+little teas, and an at home evening, something to say to people that I
+am really here, though there have been several cards left, and I _must_
+get well for Thursday. How stupid to indulge in such an inane freak
+when I have uninterruptedly good health."
+
+"Oh, I am sure mamma would be delighted! Why, it is lovely in you to
+think of it, instead of taking in some poky old companion."
+
+"I am not very fond of companions. I like visitors best. I dare say I
+am fickle. And I want some one able to correct any foreign ignorance
+that may linger about me."
+
+"As if you did not know you were perfect and altogether charming, and
+that your little foreign airs and graces are the things we all fall
+down and worship!" laughs Laura. "I could almost find it in my heart to
+wish I were a dowager."
+
+"You can come without the added dignity of years. I have a motherly
+interest in you. If you were not married I dare say I should 'ransack
+the ages' for some one fit and proper, and turn into a match-maker."
+
+"You had better take Marcia in hand; I think of doing it myself. Gert
+is past hope."
+
+"Marcia is not so bad," says madame, reflectively, "if only she would
+not set up for a genius. It is the great fault of young American women.
+Abroad everything is done, even studying music, under an assumed name,
+but one does not go on the stage."
+
+"Marcia is a fool," says Laura, with most unsisterly decision.
+
+"Well, about your mother. You think I may write. I trespassed upon your
+hospitality so long----"
+
+"Oh, whatever should I have done without you! And there is another
+funny thing," says Laura irrelevantly. "Mrs. Floyd has taken up
+literature. She copies and translates and does no end of work for the
+professor; and he has hired her cottage, where they all do some
+Bohemianish housekeeping, I believe."
+
+Madame raises her delicate eyebrows a trifle. "She must be well
+trained, then," she makes answer. "She may do admirably for your
+brother, after all."
+
+"Hem!" retorts Laura, "what does a little writing amount to? Only it
+_is_ queer."
+
+Madame never indulges in any strictures on the new wife, rather she
+treats the matter as an untoward accident to be made the best of; she
+is not so short-sighted as to show the slightest malice.
+
+Then she takes Laura back to the reception and is interested in hearing
+who was there and what was done, who was a bore, who is worth inviting,
+and so on, until Laura finds she has stayed unconscionably. After her
+visitor is gone she writes the daintiest of epistles, quite as a loving
+daughter might. She means to sap all the outer fortifications; she even
+considers if it will not be wise to invite Marcia some time.
+
+To say that Mrs. Grandon is delighted is a weak word. Nothing has ever
+so taken her by storm since Laura's engagement. She carries the letter
+to Floyd. Had madame foreseen this?
+
+"Of course you will go." His eyes are on the letter, where every stroke
+of the pen, every turn of the sentence, are so delicate. The faint
+perfume, which is of no decided scent, touches him, too; he has never
+known any one quite so perfect in all the accessories, quite so
+harmonious.
+
+"How can I?" she says, fretfully. "There is no one to look after the
+house."
+
+Floyd laughs at that.
+
+"I should suppose the servants might be trusted, and surely Marcia
+knows enough to order a meal. You do need a holiday. Come, just think
+you can go. I shall be in the city a good deal the next month, and as
+Freilgrath has a domicile of his own--yes, you must answer this
+immediately."
+
+She has a few other flimsy objections, but Floyd demolishes everything,
+and almost threatens to write for her. There is no reason why they
+should not all be good friends, even if he has married another person;
+and he has a real desire to see Madame Lepelletier. He wants to smooth
+out some little roughnesses that rather annoy him when he thinks of
+them.
+
+So Mrs. Grandon writes that Floyd will bring her down at the required
+date. Then madame has not miscalculated.
+
+She goes to a reception at the Vandervoorts', to a charming tea at the
+Latimers'. People are talking about Freilgrath and Mr. Grandon, and
+some new discoveries, as well as the general improvement in science and
+literature. There is an "air" about the "house Latimer" very charming,
+very refined, and madame fits into it like the frontispiece to a book,
+without which it would not be quite perfect. "What an extremely
+fascinating woman!" is the general comment.
+
+Mrs. Grandon has been flurried and worried up to the last moment. She
+is afraid her gowns are _passe_, that she looks old for her years, and
+that her prestige as Mrs. James Grandon is over forever. But the
+instant she steps into the hall at madame's the nervousness falls away
+like an uncomfortable wrap. The air is warm and fragrant, but not
+close, the aspect of everything is lovely, cosey, restful. A figure in
+soft array comes floating down the stairs.
+
+"I am delighted," madame says, in the most seductive tone of welcome.
+Then she holds out her hand to Floyd; looks at the waiter, and orders
+the trunk to be taken up stairs. "I was afraid you would repent at the
+last moment, or that something untoward might happen," she continues.
+"Will you sit down a moment," to Floyd, "and excuse us, just for the
+briefest space?"
+
+She waves him to the nearest of the suite of rooms with her slender
+hand, and escorts Mrs. Grandon up to her chamber adjoining her own, and
+begins to take off her wraps as a daughter might, as Mrs. Grandon's
+daughters never have done. The attention is so delicate and graceful.
+
+Floyd meanwhile marches around the room in an idle man fashion. It is
+in itself a fascination, perhaps not altogether of her choosing, but
+the fact of her taking it at all presupposes her being in some degree
+pleased. The art was all there, doubtless, but madame has left her
+impress as well in the little added touches, the vase where no one
+expected it, the flowers that suggested themselves, played a kind of
+hide-and-seek game with you through their fragrance, the picture at a
+seductive angle of light, the social grouping of the chairs, the tables
+with their open portfolios. He half wishes some one could do this for
+the great house up at the park, give it the air of grace and interest
+and human life.
+
+Madame Lepelletier comes down in the midst of these musings, alone.
+They might have parted yesterday, the best and most commonplace
+friends, for anything in her face. He has an uneasy feeling, as if an
+explanation was due, and yet he knows explanations are often blunders.
+
+"It was very kind of you to think of taking mother out of her petty
+daily round," he says. "Let me thank you!"
+
+"Oh!" she answers, "do not compel me to apologize for a bit of selfish
+motive at the bottom. And I am glad to see you. You are in the list of
+those who achieve greatness, I believe," with a most fascinating smile.
+
+"Or have it fall upon them as a shadow from some other source! I am not
+quite sure of my own prowess. That will be when I attempt something
+alone."
+
+"I was so sorry not to meet your friend the other evening, though I
+hope it is only a pleasure deferred. Do you feel at home in your native
+land? Was it not a little strange after all these years?"
+
+"I could hardly feel strange after the cordial greeting," he says. "It
+was delightful; I am sorry you missed it. Will you allow me to present
+my friend, Prof. Freilgrath, to you?"
+
+"If you will be so kind after my apparent incivility. You know I am so
+generally well that it seems any excuse on the point of health must be
+a----"
+
+"You shall not use harsh terms," and he smiles. She is the beautiful,
+brilliant incarnation of health, a picture good to look upon. He cannot
+but study her, as he has times before. The splendor of her dark eyes
+falls softly upon him, her breath comes and goes in waves that would
+sweep over a less abundant vitality, but it is the food on which she
+thrives, like some wonderful tropical blossom.
+
+"Then I am pardoned," she replies. "Now, when will you bring him? Shall
+I make a little feast and ask in the neighbors, shall I swell out into
+a grand dinner, or, let me see--covers for four while your mother is
+here? You shall choose."
+
+"Then I will choose the covers for four," he replies, to her
+satisfaction.
+
+"The time also. You know your engagements best. Will you stay and take
+luncheon with us? I have ordered it immediately, for Mrs. Grandon ought
+to have some refreshment."
+
+Her tone is gently persuasive. Grandon studies his watch,--he has just
+an hour on his hands.
+
+"Thank you; I will remain." Then, after a pause, "I am really glad of
+the opportunity. I have been so much engaged that I fear I have behaved
+badly to my friends. You know we always think we can apologize to
+them," and he indulges in a grave little smile. "Circumstances
+prevented my half-promised trip to Newport."
+
+If she would only make some reference to his marriage, but she sits
+with her face full of interest, silent and handsome.
+
+"We had to have new help in the factory. I knew so little about it that
+I was full of fears and anxieties, and all the family inheritance was
+at stake. But I think now we will be able to pull through without any
+loss, and if it _is_ a success it will be a profitable one. I have
+been taking up some claims against the estate, and yours may as well be
+settled. It is my intention to get everything in proper order to turn
+over to Eugene as soon as circumstances will allow."
+
+"My claim is so small," and she smiles with charming indifference, "it
+is quite absurd to distress yourself about it. You are likely to
+succeed in your new undertaking, Laura tells me. Why, we shall hold you
+in high esteem as a remarkable genius. Men of letters seldom have a
+mind for the machinery of business or life."
+
+"My father died at a most unfortunate time for the family, it would
+seem, and his all was involved in this new experiment. There have been
+months of bad management, or none at all," with one of the grim smiles
+that often point a sentence. "My position is one of extreme perplexity,
+yet I shall endeavor to fulfil my father's hopes and wishes."
+
+"You are very generous. Not every son would place his own aims second."
+
+"I am not doing that," he interrupts, hastily; "I really could not if I
+would. You must not make me seem heroic, for there is very little of
+that about me. It is trying to combine the two that makes the severity
+of the task, but my friend is a host in himself. To him really belongs
+the credit of our work; still, I have at length discovered that the
+bent of my mind is toward letters and science, and in another year I
+hope to do something by myself."
+
+"It is hard to be immersed in family cares at the same time," she
+answers, with the most fascinating sympathy in her eyes. "Our idea of
+such men is in the study and the world that they charm with their
+patient research. I have read of women who wrote poetry and made bread,
+but certainly both, to be excellent, need an undivided attention. The
+delicate sense of the poesy and the proper heat of the oven seem
+naturally to conflict."
+
+He smiles at her conceit, but he has found it sadly true. There is a
+touch of confident faith in her voice that is delicately encouraging.
+He has had no sympathy for so long until the professor came, for it
+would be simply foolish to expect it of his own household, who are not
+even certain that they can confide in his sense of justice. He has
+bidden adieu to the old friends and scenes, and is not quite fitted to
+the new, hence the jarring.
+
+A silvery-toned gong sounds for luncheon. Madame goes to meet her guest
+and escorts her on the one side, while her son is on the other. It is a
+charming and deferential attention, and Mrs. Grandon rises in her own
+estimation, while the dreadful sacrifice her son has made looms dark by
+contrast.
+
+Afterward, going down the street, Floyd remembers with a twinge of
+shame that Violet has not once been mentioned. It was his remissness,
+of course. He could not expect madame to discuss his marriage as one of
+the ordinary events of life, but he wishes now that he had taken the
+honorable step. If he only understood the turns and tricks of
+fashionable life. He has been in wilds and deserts so long, that he has
+a curious nervous dread of blunders or those inopportune explanations
+he has occasionally witnessed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+To be wise is the first part of happiness.--ANTIGONE.
+
+
+They are excellently served and complete order reigns at the great
+house, yet Mrs. Grandon is missed, in ways not altogether complimentary
+if one put it into words. Marcia delights in playing at mistress. She
+asks in some of her neighbors to dinner, but Violet, excusing herself,
+goes over to the cottage. Floyd is not at home to be consulted, and she
+does not wish to blunder or to annoy him. She wins Marcia's favor to a
+certain extent, but her favor is the most unreliable gift of the gods.
+She has no mind of her own, but is continually picking up ready-made
+characteristics of her neighbors and trying them on as one would a
+bonnet, and with about the same success. While the rest of her small
+world is painfully aware of her inconsistency, she prides herself upon
+a wide range of mental acquirements. She generously allows Violet to
+try driving Dolly, who is as gentle as a lamb.
+
+Violet draws some delicious breaths, when she feels quite like a bird,
+but she does not know that it is freedom. She hardly misses Mr.
+Grandon, who seems to be up at the factory or down to the city nearly
+all the time. The piano stands open, daring innovation, and she plays
+for hours, to Cecil's entrancement, and inducts her in the steps of a
+fascinating little dance. Cecil is growing quite wild and wilful at
+times, but she is always charming.
+
+They all go up to the cottage one day to a lunch of Denise's preparing.
+While Gertrude rests, Marcia insists upon visiting the place where
+Cecil was rescued.
+
+"You dear, brave child!" she cries, kissing Violet with rapture, "I
+don't wonder Floyd fell in love with you on the spot! If you could only
+pose just that way to me, and I could paint it! What a picture it would
+be for exhibition!"
+
+Violet flushes warmly, but by this time she shares the family distrust
+of Marcia's splendid endeavors.
+
+"Oh," Cecil whispers, clinging tightly to her hand and shuddering with
+awe, "if I had fallen down over all those jagged rocks! I shall always,
+always love you dearly; papa said I must."
+
+How like a dream that far-off day appears!
+
+There is a bit of wood fire burning on the hearth when they return, for
+Violet remembers that Gertrude is always cold. The table is simple and
+yet exquisite. Marcia is crazed with the china and some silver spoons
+that date to antiquity or the first silversmiths.
+
+"If I had money," she begins, when her appetite is a little sated,--"if
+I had money I should have a house of my own, kept just to my fancy,
+with an old French servant like Denise, only"--glancing around--"it
+must be severely artistic. It is so hard that women cannot make
+fortunes!" with a long sigh.
+
+"I should enjoy one made for me quite as well," rejoins Gertrude, who
+is always annoyed by Marcia's assumptions of or longings for manhood.
+
+"What a lucky girl you are, or will be if Floyd's plans come out
+right," and Marcia nods to Violet. "Only I should hate all that
+wretched waiting!"
+
+"How long must I wait?" There is a lurking smile in Violet's brown
+eyes.
+
+"How long?--don't _you_ know?" accenting the words with surprise. "Why
+this is quite a mystery. I have heard of heiresses being kept in the
+dark for evil purposes," and Marcia gives her head an airy toss. "Have
+you never seen your father's will? Until you are twenty-five--but I
+shouldn't feel at all obliged to Floyd for tying it up so securely. I
+dare say he could have persuaded your father differently!"
+
+Violet colors with a curious sense of displeasure. Gertrude gives a
+warning look, and for fear of that failing in its mission, touches
+Marcia's foot under the table.
+
+"I suppose he--they both did what they thought best," Violet says, hurt
+somehow at the signal and a consciousness of some secrecy.
+
+"Oh, of course, of course! Men always do take their own way; they think
+they are so much wiser than women, selfish beings!" exclaims Marcia, on
+another tack. Gertrude bestirs herself to make a diversion, but a
+latent wonder lingers in Violet's mind. She does not really care about
+any knowledge being kept away from her, and she has known all along
+that she was something of an heiress. Did not Mr. Grandon admit that
+when they talked about the trousseau? A sense of mystery comes up about
+her like a thick, gray mist, and she shivers. She cannot tell why, but
+the joy of the day is over.
+
+When they reach home there is company for Marcia, two especial guests,
+that she takes up to her sanctum, and is seen no more until the
+dinner-bell summons her. Eugene is in an uncomfortable mood and teases
+Cecil. Violet seems always a little afraid of this handsome young man,
+who has a way of making inscrutable remarks. Her music is melancholy
+this evening, and Cecil is difficult to please, so she is glad when
+bedtime comes and with it a _resume_ of the times of the wonderful
+Haroun al Raschid. But when Cecil falls asleep an intense feeling of
+loneliness seizes her. It seems as if she was somewhere in a wide
+desert waste.
+
+Mr. Grandon is to spend the night in the city. She wonders where he is!
+There was the reception to the professor, there was a grand dinner for
+gentlemen only, at the house of some famous person, there has been
+business. She would like to imagine the scene for her own interest. How
+strange, she thinks, to sit three or four hours over a dinner, and yet,
+if the professor talked, she could listen forever. Does Mr. Grandon
+ever talk in that manner? A fine thrill speeds along her nerves, a sort
+of pride in him, a secret joy that he is hers.
+
+Oh, it is only nine o'clock! Violet tries to interest herself in a
+novel, but it is stupid work. There are voices down-stairs and she
+catches Marcia's inane little laugh. They never ask her down, because
+she is in deep mourning, and Gertrude has kindly told her that people
+do not go in society for at least six months when they have lost a near
+relative. She has been married only two months, and it has seemed as
+long as any other six months in her whole life.
+
+Then she wonders why the marriages of books are so different from
+the marriages of real life. There was Linda Radford, one of her
+schoolmates, who went away last year to be married to an Englishman and
+live at Montreal. Linda had a fortune, and the gentleman was a distant
+cousin. They had always been engaged. Linda had written two letters
+afterward, about her handsome house and elegant clothes. Then little
+Jeanne Davray had a lover come from France, who married her in the
+convent chapel and took her away. Once she wrote back to Sister
+Catharine. There was a bright, wilful girl, a Protestant, placed in
+the convent, who ran away with a married man and shocked the small
+community so much that the mention of her name was forbidden. Right
+here are Laura and Mr. Delancy, who are not story-book lovers, either.
+Oh, which is true? She hides a blushing longing face on Cecil's pillow,
+and sighs softly, secretly, for what she has not. Denise would call
+it a sin, for she thinks every word and act of Mr. Grandon's exactly
+right. Then, somehow, _she_ must be wrong. Are the books and poems all
+wrong? She prays to be kept from all sin, not to desire or covet what
+may not be meant for her. Oh, what a long, long evening!
+
+Floyd Grandon is a guest at Madame Lepelletier's table. There are three
+rooms, divided by silken portieres, which are now partially swung
+aside. The lamps in the other rooms are burning low, there is a sweet,
+faint perfume, a lovely suggestiveness, a background fit for a picture,
+and this cosey apartment, hung with shimmering silk, and lighted from a
+cluster of intense, velvety tropical flowers, soften the glare and add
+curious tints of their own, suggestive of sunlight through a garden. It
+is not the dining-room proper. Madame has ways quite different from
+other people, surprises, delicate, delicious, and dares to defy fashion
+when she chooses, though most people would consider her a scrupulous
+observer. The four would not be half so effective in the large
+apartment. There is a handful of fire in the low grate, and the windows
+are open to temper the air through the silken curtains. Mrs. Grandon is
+looking her best, a handsome, middle-aged woman. Madame Lepelletier is
+in an exquisite shade of bluish velvet that brings out every line and
+tint in a sumptuous manner. The square-cut corsage and elbow sleeves
+are trimmed with almost priceless ivory-tinted lace; and except the
+solitaire diamonds in her ears, she wears no jewels. There are two or
+three yellow rose-buds low down in her shining black hair, and two half
+hidden in the lace on her bosom. The skirt of her dress is long and
+plain, and makes crested billows about her as she sits there.
+
+The dinner is over, and it was perfect; the dessert has been taken out,
+the wine, fruit, and nuts remain; the waiter is dismissed, the chairs
+are pushed back just to a degree of informality and comfort, and they
+have reached that crowning delight, an after-dinner chat.
+
+Madame has been posting herself on antiquities and discoveries. There
+seems nothing particularly new about her knowledge; she is at home in
+it, and in no haste to air it; she keeps pace with them in a leisurely
+way, as if not straying out of her usual course. Floyd Grandon feels
+conscience-smitten that he once believed her wholly immersed in
+wedding-clothes and fashions. What a remarkable, many-sided woman she
+is! a perfect queen of _all_ society, and an admirable one at that.
+Everything she says is fresh and crisp, and her little jest well told
+and well chosen. The professor beams and smiles, though he is no great
+lady's man. She might be a _bon camarade_, so free is she from the airy
+little nothings of society that puzzle scholarly men. There is
+something charming, too, in the way Mrs. Grandon is made one of the
+circle,--a part of them, not merely an outside propriety. Every moment
+she grudges that fascinating woman for her son; she is almost jealous
+when the professor listens with such rapt deference and admiration.
+That Floyd's own unwisdom should have placed the bar between himself
+and this magnificent woman is almost more than she can endure.
+
+He has dropped in one morning and accompanied them to a _matinee_. A
+foreign friend has sent madame tickets, and he had an hour or two on
+his hands while waiting for proofs. In all these interviews Violet's
+name has not been mentioned. His marriage is a matter of course, he is
+not sailing under any false colors, he has made no protestations of
+friendship, still he has an uneasy feeling. If Violet only could go
+into society, yet he knows intuitively the two women never could be
+friends, though he has no great faith in the friendship of women for
+women; it is seldom the sort of a stand-up affair for all time that
+pins a man's faith to another. He wonders, too, what Violet is doing.
+How she would enjoy these lovely rooms! She could not sit at the head
+of a table a queen, but then she is young yet. Madame was not
+perfection at seventeen, and he strongly suspects that he was a prig.
+Could he take Violet to a _matinee_? If there was someone he dared ask.
+
+It is midnight when the two men walk home to their hotel. Grandon feels
+as if he has taken too much wine, though he is always extremely
+moderate.
+
+"She is perfection!" declares the professor, enthusiastically. "You
+have many charming women, but I have seen none as superb as she. There
+is an atmosphere of courts about her, and so well informed, so delicate
+with her knowledge, not thrusting it at you with a shout. You have
+given me the greatest of pleasure. If I were not an old tramp, with a
+knapsack on my shoulder, I do not know what would happen! I might be
+the fly in the flame!"
+
+Floyd laughs amusedly. There is about as much danger of Freilgrath
+falling in love with her as there is of himself. Would he have, he
+wonders, if other events had not crowded in and almost taken the right
+of choice from him? It would not have been a bad match if Cecil had
+loved her, and she _does_ love Violet. His heart gives a great throb as
+he thinks of the two in each other's arms, sleeping sweetly. All the
+passion of his soul is still centred in Cecil.
+
+Yet he feels a trifle curious about himself. Is he stock or stone? He
+has known of strong men being swept from their moorings when duty,
+honor, and all that was most sacred held them elsewhere; nay, he has
+even seen them throw away the world and consider it well lost for a
+woman's love. If he should never see madame again he would not grieve
+deeply, but being here he will see her often, and there is no danger.
+
+By some curious cross-light of mental retrospect he also knows that if
+Violet were the beloved wife of any other man--the large-hearted
+professor, for instance--he could see her daily without one covetous
+pang. He likes her very, very much, she is dear to him, but he is not
+in love, and he rather exults in being so cool-headed. Is it anything
+but a wild dream, soon burned out to ashes?
+
+Madame Lepelletier, in the solitude of her room, studies her superb
+figure, with its rich and affluent lines. No mere beauty of pink
+cheeks, dimples, of seventeen, can compare with it, and she understands
+the art of keeping it fresh and perfect for some years to come at
+least. Floyd Grandon is just beginning a career that will delight and
+satisfy him beyond anything he dreams of to-night. He is not in love
+with his wife; he did not want her fortune, there were others already
+made at hand. A foolish pity, the remnant of youth, moved him, and some
+day he will look back in amazement at his folly. But all the same he
+has put a slight upon her preference, shown to him, but not in any wise
+confessed. She has no silly sentiment, neither would she cloud her
+position for a prince of the blood royal, or what is saying more, for
+the man she _could_ love, but society has devious turns and varying
+latitudes. One need not run squarely against the small fences it puts
+up, to gain satisfaction.
+
+Prof. Freilgrath comes up home with his friend the next morning. There
+are some dates to verify, some designs to decide upon, but he will not
+remain to luncheon. Grandon steps out to greet Denise, when the
+opposite door opens, and two quaint laughing figures appear. Violet is
+wrapped in her shepherd's plaid, the corner twisted into a bewitching
+hood and surmounted by a cluster of black ribbon bows. She holds Cecil
+by the hand, who looks a veritable Red Ridinghood, tempting enough to
+ensnare any wolf. Both are bright and vivid, and have a fresh,
+blown-about look that walking in the wind invariably imparts. Cecil
+springs into his arms, and still holding her he bends to kiss Violet.
+
+"You have not walked up?" he asks, in surprise.
+
+"It was not very far, and it is such a lovely, glowing morning," Violet
+says, with a touch of deprecation.
+
+"We ran," cries Cecil, with her exuberant spirits in her tone. "We ran
+races, and I beat! And we played a wolf was coming. Mamma has seen real
+wolves in Canada. But if we had a pony carriage,--because Aunt Marcia
+is stingy sometimes----"
+
+"O Cecil!" interposes Violet, in distress.
+
+"Would you like one, Violet? You could soon learn to drive," and he
+glances into her deep, dewy eyes, her face that is a glow of delight.
+
+"Marcia has been very kind, and has let me drive Dolly a little. I
+should not be afraid, and it would be so delightful."
+
+"You quite deserve it, I have to leave you so much to entertain
+yourselves. Now rest a little and I will walk back with you."
+
+The professor comes out. "They will stay for lunch, good Denise," he
+announces, quite peremptorily. "Good morning, Mrs. Grandon; good
+morning, little one! We have been sadly dissipated fellows, going
+around on what you call 'larks,' and you ought to scold us both."
+
+"I don't know why!" she rejoins, with a bright smile. She is suddenly
+very happy; it tingles along every nerve.
+
+"What a pretty--hood, do you call it?" says Grandon, rather awkwardly,
+trying to unfasten Violet's wrap.
+
+"And the little one is a picture!" adds the professor, glancing from
+one to the other.
+
+"Mamma made mine," cries Cecil. "She had one when she was a little
+girl, and her papa brought it from Paris."
+
+Grandon laughs. They go to look at the designs, and Violet makes
+business-like little comments that surprise them both. She is so eager
+to have the book done, to see it in proper shape with her own eyes. "I
+shall really feel famous," she declares, with a pretty air of
+consequence, archly assumed.
+
+The lunch is delightful, and Violet confesses that yesterday they all
+entered with felonious intent, and did eat and drink, and surreptitiously
+waste and destroy.
+
+"You didn't get Gertrude here?" asks Floyd. "What magic did you use?"
+
+"And Denise made such a lovely fire for her," says Cecil. "She wasn't a
+bit cold. I wish we could live here, it is so little and nice."
+
+That seems to amuse the professor greatly. He feeds Cecil grapes, and
+plans how it shall be. Grandon, too, seems in unusual spirits; and
+presently they have an enchanting walk home. The October day is
+gorgeous, and they find some chestnuts. The pony carriage is talked
+over again, and Floyd promises to look it up immediately.
+
+That evening at dinner Marcia says, suddenly, "Did you and the
+professor dine with madame last night? Mother's letter came this
+morning, in which she spoke of expecting you. Of course madame looked
+like a queen in
+
+    "'The folds of her wine-dark velvet dress.'"
+
+"It was--blue or green or something, only _not_ wine-color," says
+Floyd.
+
+"Was any one else there?"
+
+"No, it was just for the professor."
+
+"She might have had the goodness to remember there were more in the
+family. Mrs. Grandon and myself," declares Eugene, almost in a tone of
+vexation.
+
+"What was the opera? I think you _are_ getting very----"
+
+"'Martha,'" he interrupts, quickly. "An acquaintance of madame's sang
+as _Plunkett_, and did extremely well; a young Italian who only a year
+or two ago lost his fortune."
+
+"Brignoli used to be divine as _Lionel_," says Marcia. "I don't believe
+I should like another person in that _role_. Of course madame is making
+a great sensation in New York. What a wonderfully handsome woman she
+is, and--do you remember, Gertrude, whether any one ever made any great
+fuss about her in her youth?"
+
+Gertrude colors at this thrust of ancient memory.
+
+"She is the handsomest woman I ever saw," begins Eugene, and his glance
+falls upon Violet. "Of course she was handsome always, and you need not
+hint enviously of a lost youth, Marcia. She looks younger than any of
+you girls to-day. There wasn't one at Newport who could hold a candle
+to her. The men were mowed down 'n swaths. Not one could stand before
+her."
+
+"Then _I_ say she is a coquette," is Marcia's decisive reply. "I dare
+say there will be no end of dinners and Germans and lovers. It's
+fearfully mean in Laura not to take a house for the winter and invite a
+body down. It is horrid dull here! Floyd, do _you_ mean to stay up all
+winter?"
+
+"Why not? I have not spent a winter here since I was a boy, in the old
+farm-house with Aunt Marcia."
+
+"What an awful place it was!" Marcia is quite forgetting her _role_ of
+severe high art. "I believe she always chose the coldest days in winter
+and the warmest days in summer to invite us. I don't see how you
+endured it!"
+
+"I not only endured it," says Floyd, meditatively, "but I liked it."
+
+"Well, one _might_ like it with a fortune in the background," Eugene
+rejoins, with covert insolence.
+
+The dessert is being brought in, which causes a lull in the family
+strictures. Floyd frowns and is silent. When they rise, Cecil runs to
+the drawing-room, and the two follow her.
+
+"Play a little," says her husband; and Violet sits down, thinking of
+the handsome woman she has never yet seen, but who seems to have
+bewitched all the family.
+
+Floyd is down twice again before the day on which he escorts his mother
+home. On one of these occasions he buys the pony. Violet and Cecil are
+both filled with delight, and Floyd gives his wife a little driving
+practice. He is so good to her, she thinks, but she sometimes wishes he
+would talk to her about madame.
+
+They are quite enthusiastic at Mrs. Grandon's return, but her distance
+and elegance chill Violet to the very soul. She has no part in the
+general cordiality, and Floyd finds himself helpless to mend matters.
+For the first time since he has come home he regrets that this great
+house is his portion, and that half, at least, had not gone to the
+rest. He has a desperate desire to take Violet and live in the cottage,
+as Cecil has proposed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+"The branches cross above our eyes,
+  The skies are in a net."
+
+
+The plans have been made without taking Violet into the slightest
+account, or Floyd, as master of the house. Laura and madame are to come
+up for a week, and there must be a dinner and an evening party. Laura
+was compelled to have such a quiet wedding, and it was really shameful
+to make so much use of madame and offer her so little in return.
+
+"I really don't know what to do about the rooms," says Mrs. Grandon.
+"It was absurd in Floyd to take that elegant spare chamber when he had
+two rooms of his own and all the tower; and if one should say a word,
+my lady would be in high dudgeon, no doubt."
+
+"Mother," begins Gertrude in a calm tone,--and it seems as if Gertrude
+had lost her sickly whine in this bracing autumn weather,--"you do
+Violet great injustice. She will give up the room with pleasure the
+moment she is asked."
+
+"Oh, I dare say!" with a touch of scorn, meant to wither both speaker
+and person spoken of, "if I were to go down on my knees, which I never
+have done yet."
+
+"You forget the house is Floyd's."
+
+"No, I do _not_; I am not allowed to," with stately emphasis. "When
+Floyd was down to the city he was the tenderest of sons to me. She is
+a sly, treacherous little thing; you can see it in her face. I never
+would trust a person with red hair, and she sets him up continually.
+He is so different when he is away from her; Laura remarked it. How
+he ever could have married her!"
+
+"It would be the simplest act of courtesy to speak about the room; just
+mention it to Floyd."
+
+Mrs. Grandon draws a long, despairing sigh, as if she had been put upon
+to the uttermost.
+
+"We must invite the Brades and the Van Bergens to the dinner, though I
+suppose Laura will choose the guests and divide them to her liking;
+only at the dinner we shall have no dancing. Laura is to come up
+to-morrow."
+
+"If you would like me to speak about the room----" says Gertrude.
+
+"I believe I am still capable of attending to my own affairs," is the
+lofty rejoinder.
+
+Marcia, with her head full of coming events, waylays Floyd on his
+return that morning.
+
+"I want some money," she says, with a kind of infantile gayety. "I have
+bills and bills; their name is legion."
+
+"How much?" he asks, briefly.
+
+"I think--you may as well give me a thousand dollars," in a rather
+slow, considering tone.
+
+He looks at her in surprise.
+
+"Well," and she tosses her head, setting the short curls in a flutter,
+"is a thousand dollars so large a sum?"
+
+"You had better think before spending it," he answers, gravely. "You
+will then have four thousand left."
+
+"It is my own money."
+
+"I know it is. But, Marcia, you all act as if there was to be no end to
+it. If you should get all your part, the ten thousand, it would be only
+a small sum and easily spent. What do you want to do with so much just
+now?"
+
+"I told you I had bills to pay," she says, pettishly, "and dresses to
+get." Then she lights upon what seems to her a withering sarcasm. "I
+have no one to take me to Madame Vauban's and pay no end of bills. If I
+bought dresses like that when I had no need of them and was not in
+society----"
+
+"Hush, Marcia!" he commands, "you shall have your money. Spend it as
+you like," and he strides through the hall. He has been sorely tried
+with Eugene, who will _not_ interest himself in work, and has been
+indulging in numerous extravagances; and business has not improved,
+though everything in the factory goes smoothly.
+
+Violet is in Cecil's room, teaching her some dainty bits of French. She
+looks up with a bright smile and a blush, the color ripples over her
+face so quickly. His is so grave. If she only had the courage to go and
+put her arms about his neck and inquire into the trouble. She is so
+intensely sympathetic, so generous in all her moods.
+
+He has come home to take her to drive. It is such a soft,
+Indian-summery day, with the air full of scents and sounds, but all the
+pleasure has gone out of it now for him.
+
+"Papa, listen to me," says Cecil, with her pretty imperiousness. "I can
+talk to mamma in real French."
+
+He smiles languidly and listens. If a man should lose his all, this
+dainty, dimpled little creature playing at motherhood could set a
+table, sweep a house, make her children's clothes and perhaps keep
+cheerful through it. Was there ever any such woman, or is he dreaming?
+
+He goes to hunt up Marcia's property, and is tempted to hand it over to
+her and never trouble his head about it again. But that will not be the
+part of prudence, any more than trusting their all to Eugene. Having
+accepted the burthen, he must not lay it down at any chance
+resting-place. So he hands it to her quietly at luncheon, and that
+evening listens courteously to his mother's plans, offering no
+objection.
+
+"But he did not evince the slightest interest," she declares to Marcia.
+"And you will see that every possible obstacle will be put in the way."
+
+"And he can spend his money upon pony carriages for her!" retorts
+Marcia, spitefully.
+
+The pony carriage is indeed a grievance, and when Floyd teaches his
+wife to ride, as her pony is accustomed to the saddle, the cup brims
+over. He has announced the visitors to her, and she dreads, yet is most
+anxious to see Madame Lepelletier.
+
+"Was not this room hers when she was here in the summer?" asks Violet,
+standing by the window.
+
+"Yes," answers her husband, but he makes no further comment. It looks
+like crowding Violet out, and he is not sure he wants that. He will
+have her treated with the utmost respect during this visit, and it will
+prove an opportunity to establish her in her proper standing as his
+wife.
+
+It all comes about quite differently. Violet is at the cottage, and has
+gone up to take a look at papa's room and put some flowers on the
+table. All is so lovely and peaceful. There is no place in the world
+like it, for it is not the chamber of death, but rather that of
+resurrection.
+
+"Violet," calls her husband.
+
+She turns to run down the stairs. It is a trifle dark, and how it
+happens she cannot tell, but she lands on the floor almost at her
+husband's feet, and one sharp little cry is all.
+
+He picks her up and carries her to the kitchen, laying her on Denise's
+cane-seat settee, where she shudders and opens her eyes, then faints
+again.
+
+"I wonder if any bones are broken!" And while Denise is bathing her
+forehead, he tries her arms, which are safe. Then as he takes one small
+foot in his hand she utters a piercing exclamation of pain. Prof.
+Freilgrath is away; there is nothing but for Floyd to go for a
+physician. He looks lingeringly, tenderly at the sweet child face, and
+kisses the cold lips. Yes, she _is_ very dear to him.
+
+He brings back the doctor speedily. One ankle is badly sprained, and
+there seems a wrench of some kind in her back. She must be undressed
+and put to bed, and her ankle bandaged. He makes her draw a dozen long
+respirations.
+
+"I do not believe it can be anything serious," he says, kindly, "but we
+will keep good watch. I will be in again early in the morning. There is
+no present cause for anxiety," studying Grandon's perturbed face.
+
+"I hope there is none at all," the husband responds, gravely.
+"And--would it be possible to move her in a day or two?"
+
+"She had better lie there on her back for the next week. You see, it is
+a great shock to both nerves and muscles: we are not quite birds of the
+air," and he laughs cheerily. "We will see how it goes with her
+to-morrow."
+
+Floyd returns to the chamber. Violet has a bright spot on either cheek,
+and her eyes have a frightened, restless expression.
+
+"It was so careless of me," she begins, in her soft tone that ought to
+disarm and conquer any prejudice. "I should have looked, but I have
+grown so used to running up and down."
+
+"Accidents happen to the best of people." Then he has to laugh at the
+platitude, and she laughs, too. "I mean--" he begins--"well, you are
+not to worry or blame yourself, or to take the slightest trouble. I am
+sorry it should happen just now, or at any time, for that matter, and
+my only desire is that you shall get perfectly well and strong. It
+might have been worse, my little darling," and he kisses her tenderly.
+Then suddenly he realizes how very much worse it might have been, if
+she had been left maimed and helpless; and bending over, folds her in
+such an ardent embrace that every pulse quivers, and her first impulse
+is to run away from something she cannot understand, yet is vaguely
+delicious when the fear has ceased.
+
+"I must go down to the park, but I will be back soon and stay all
+night. Denise will bring you up a cup of tea." Then he kisses her again
+and leaves her trembling with a strange, secret joy.
+
+Rapidly as he drives home, he finds them all at dinner. "You are late,"
+his mother exclaims sharply, but makes no further comment. Eugene
+stares a little at the space behind him, and wonders momentarily. But
+when he seats himself and is helped, he remarks that Cecil is not
+present and inquires the reason.
+
+"She was very naughty," explains Mrs. Grandon, severely. "Floyd, the
+best thing you can do is to send that child back to England. She is
+completely spoiled, and no one can manage her. If you keep on this way
+she will become unendurable."
+
+Floyd Grandon makes no answer. If Marcia and Eugene would not tease her
+so continually, and laugh at the quick and sometimes insolent retorts!
+
+"Where is Violet?" inquires Gertrude.
+
+"She is at the cottage. She has met with an accident," he replies,
+gravely.
+
+"Oh!" Gertrude is really alarmed. The rest are curious, indifferent.
+"What is it, what has happened?"
+
+"She slipped and fell down-stairs, and has sprained her ankle; beside
+the shock, we trust there are no more serious hurts."
+
+"Those poky little stairs!" says Marcia. "I wonder some one's neck has
+not been broken before this. Why do you not tear them out, Floyd, and
+have the place altered. It has some extremely picturesque points and
+would make over beautifully."
+
+"It wouldn't be worth the expense," says Eugene, decisively, "on that
+bit of cross road with no real street anywhere. I wonder at St. Vincent
+putting money in such a cubby as that."
+
+"The situation is exquisite," declares Marcia. "It seems to just hang
+on the side of the cliff, and the terraced lawn and gardens would look
+lovely in a sketch; on an autumn day it would be at its best, with the
+trees in flaming gold and scarlet, and the intense green of the pines.
+I really must undertake it before it is too late. Or as 'Desolation' in
+midwinter it would be wonderfully effective."
+
+"The most effective, I think."
+
+Eugene is angry with Floyd for being the real master of the situation
+and not allowing him to draw on the firm name for debts. He takes a
+special delight in showing ill-temper to the elder.
+
+"I am so glad," says Gertrude to Floyd, as soon as there is sufficient
+lull to be heard. "Broken limbs are sometimes extremely troublesome.
+But she will not be able to walk for some weeks if it is bad."
+
+"It was dreadfully swollen by the time Dr. Hendricks came. I am very
+thankful it was no worse, though that will be bad enough just when I
+wanted her well," he says, with an energetic ring to his voice that
+causes his mother to glance up.
+
+"It is extremely unfortunate," she comments, with sympathy plainly
+ironical. "What had we better do? Our dinner invitations are out."
+
+"Everything will go on just the same," he answers, briefly, but he is
+sick at heart. His life seems sacrificed to petty dissensions and the
+selfish aims of others. The great, beautiful house is his, but he has
+no home. The wife that should be a joy and pleasure is turned by them
+into a thorn to prick him here and there. Even his little child--
+
+"Jane, what was the trouble?" he asks, a few minutes later, as he
+enters Cecil's room, where she is having a cosy dinner with her small
+dishes.
+
+"O papa--and I don't mind at all! It's just splendid up here."
+
+"Hush, Cecil," rather peremptorily.
+
+"Mrs. Grandon was--I _do_ think she was cross," says Jane. "Miss Cecil
+said she would wait for her mamma, and Mrs. Grandon said----" Jane
+hesitates.
+
+"Isn't it your house, papa? Grandmamma shook me because I said so," and
+Cecil glances up defiantly.
+
+"What did Mrs. Grandon say?" he asks, quietly, of Jane; for intensely
+as he dislikes servants' gossip, he will know what provocation was
+given to his child.
+
+"She said that Miss Cecil wasn't mistress here nor any one else, and
+that she would not have dinner kept waiting for people who chose to be
+continually on the go. She took Miss Cecil's hand, and the child jerked
+away, and she scolded, and Miss Cecil said that about the house."
+
+"Very well, I understand all that is necessary." He has not the heart
+to scold Cecil, the one being in the house devoted to Violet, and looks
+at her with sad eyes as he says,--
+
+"Mamma has had a bad fall, and is ill in bed. You must be a good girl
+to-night and not make trouble for Jane."
+
+"Oh, let me go to her!" Cecil is down from her dainty table, clinging
+to her father. "Let me go, I will be so good and quiet, and not tease
+her for stories, but just smooth her pretty hair as I did when her head
+ached. Oh, you will let me go?"
+
+He raises her in his arms and kisses the rosy, beseeching lips, while
+the earnest heart beats against his own. "My darling," there is a
+little tremble in his voice, "my dear darling, I cannot take you
+to-night, but if you will be brave and quiet you shall go to-morrow.
+See if you cannot earn the indulgence, and not give papa any trouble,
+because you love him."
+
+A long, quivering breath and dropping tears answer him. He is much
+moved by her effort and comforts her, puts her back in her chair, and
+utters a tender good night. Gertrude waylays him in the hall for a
+second assurance that matters are not serious with Violet, and sends
+her love. He sees no one else, and goes out in the darkness with a step
+that rings on the walk. It seems to him that he has never been so angry
+in all his life, and never so helpless.
+
+"She has had her tea and fallen asleep," announces Denise, in a low
+tone, as if loud talking was not permissible, even at the kitchen door.
+"I think the powder was an anodyne. There is another for her in the
+night if she is restless."
+
+He goes up over the winding stairs with a curious sensation. She lies
+there asleep, one arm thrown partly over her head, the soft white
+sleeve framing in the fair hair that glitters as if powdered with
+diamond-dust. The face is so piquant, so brave, daring, seductive, with
+its dimples and its smiling mouth, albeit rather pale. His stern, tense
+look softens. She is sweet enough for any man to love: she has ten
+times the sense of Marcia, the strength and spirit of Gertrude, and
+none of the selfishness of Laura. She is pretty, too, the kind of
+prettiness that does not awe or stir deeply or _command_ worship. What
+is it--and an old couplet half evades him--
+
+    "A creature not too bright and good
+    For human nature's daily food."
+
+That just expresses her. What with the writing and the business, he has
+had so little time for her, but henceforth she shall be his delight. He
+will devote himself to her pleasure. Proper or not, she shall go to the
+city and see the gayety, hear concerts and operas and plays, even if
+they have to go in disguise. But how to give her her true position at
+home puzzles him sorely. He had meant to introduce her at these coming
+parties, but of course that is quite out of the question.
+
+Denise comes up presently, the kindly friend, the respectful domestic,
+and takes a low seat when Mr. Grandon insists upon her remaining
+awhile. Something in her curious Old World reverence always touches
+him. He asks about Violet's childhood, whatever she remembers. The
+mother she never saw; but she has been with the St. Vincents thirteen
+years. They lived in Quebec for more than half that time; then Mr. St.
+Vincent was abroad for two years, and Miss Violet went to the convent.
+Denise is a faithful Romanist, but she has always honored her master's
+faith,--perhaps because he has been so generous to hers.
+
+There is some tea on the kitchen stove keeping warm, she tells him with
+her good night, some biscuits and crackers, and a bottle of wine, if he
+likes better. Then he is left alone, and presently the great clock in
+the hall tells off slowly and reverently the midnight hour.
+
+Violet stirs and opens her eyes. There is a light, and Mr. Grandon is
+sitting here. What does it all mean? Her face flushes and she gives a
+sudden start, half rising, and then drops back on the pillow, many
+shades paler.
+
+"I know now," she cries. "You came back to stay with me?"
+
+There is a thrill of exultant joy in her tone. Does such a simple act
+of duty give her pleasure, gratify her to the very soul? He is touched,
+flattered, and then almost pained.
+
+"You do not suppose I would leave you alone all night, my little
+Violet?"
+
+"It was good of you to come," she insists. "But are you going to sit
+up? I am not really ill."
+
+"Your back hurt you, though, when you stirred. I saw it in your face."
+
+"It hurt only a little. I shall have to keep quiet, now," with a bright
+smile.
+
+"And your ankle must be bathed. I should have done it before but you
+were sleeping so sweetly. Does your head ache, or is there any pain?"
+
+"Only that in my back; but when I am still it goes away. My ankle feels
+so tight. If the bandage could be loosened----"
+
+"I think it best not." Then he bathes it with the gentlest handling,
+until the thick layers have been penetrated. Will she have anything to
+eat or to drink? Had she better take the second powder?
+
+"Not unless I am restless, and I am not--very, am I?" with a soft
+little inquiry.
+
+"Not at all, I think," holding her wrist attentively.
+
+"Are you going to sit up all night?" she asks.
+
+"I am going to sit here awhile and put my head on your pillow, so,
+unless you send me away."
+
+"Send you away!" she echoes, in a tone that confesses unwittingly how
+glad she is to have him.
+
+Her hand is still in his, and he buries it in his soft beard, or bites
+the fingers playfully. Her warm cheek is against his on the pillow, and
+he can feel the flush come and go, the curious little heat that
+bespeaks agitation. It is an odd, new knowledge, pleasing withal, and
+though he is in some doubt about the wisdom, he hates even to move.
+
+"You are quite sure you are comfortable?" he asks again.
+
+"Oh, delightful!" There is a lingering cadence in her voice, as if
+there might be more to say if she dared.
+
+"You must go to sleep again, like a good child," he counsels, with a
+sense of duty uppermost.
+
+She breathes very regularly, but she is awake long after he fancies her
+oblivious. She feels the kisses on her cheek and on her prisoned
+fingers, and is very, very happy, so happy that the pain in her ankle
+is as nothing to bear.
+
+Dr. Hendricks makes a very good report in the morning. The patient's
+back has been strained, and the ankle is bad enough, but good care will
+soon overcome that. She must lie perfectly still for several days.
+
+"When can she be moved?" Mr. Grandon asks.
+
+"Moved? Why, she can't be moved at all! She is better off here than she
+would be with a crowd around her bothering and wanting to wait on her,
+as mothers and sisters invariably do," with a half-laughing nod at
+Grandon. "Her back must get perfectly strong before she even sits up.
+The diseases and accidents of life are not half as bad as the under or
+over care, often most injudicious."
+
+"Oh, do let me stay!" pleads Violet, with large, soft, beseeching eyes.
+
+He has been planning how she shall be honored and cared for in her own
+home, and does not like to yield. To have her out of the way here will
+gratify all the others too much.
+
+"Of course you will stay," the doctor says. "When a woman promises to
+obey at the marriage altar, there is always an exception in the case of
+that privileged and tyrannical person, the doctor."
+
+Violet smiles, and is glad of the tyranny.
+
+"She may see one or two guests and have a book to read, but she is not
+to sit up."
+
+The guest to-day is Cecil, but Denise makes the kitchen so altogether
+attractive that Cecil's heart is very much divided. Mr. Grandon spends
+part of the afternoon reading aloud, but his mellow, finely modulated
+voice is so charming that Violet quite forgets the subject in the
+delight of listening to him. Cecil would fain stay and wishes they
+could all live with Denise.
+
+Yes, there could be more real happiness in that little nest than in the
+great house. Aunt Marcia's gift has not brought him very good luck,
+even from the first.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+What is the use of so much talking? Is not the wild rose sweet without
+a comment?--HAZZLIT.
+
+
+Since there is no real alarm about Mrs. Floyd, arrangements go onward.
+Madame Lepelletier and Mr. and Mrs. Delancy come up on the appointed
+day, and madame is led to the lovely guest chamber where she reigned
+before. This is Monday, and on Tuesday the _elite_ of Grandon Park and
+a select few of the _creme_ of Westbrook are invited to dinner. Laura
+is the star of the occasion, but madame is its grace, its surprise, its
+charm. The few who have seen her are delighted to renew the
+acquaintance, others are charmed, fascinated.
+
+There has been no little undercurrent of curiosity concerning Mr. Floyd
+Grandon's wife. The feeling has gone abroad that there is something
+about it "not quite, you know." Mrs. Grandon has not concealed her
+chagrin and disappointment; Marcia's descriptions are wavering and
+unreliable, as well as her regard. This is such an excellent
+opportunity for everybody to see and to judge according to individual
+preference or favor, and behold there is nothing to see. Mrs. Floyd has
+sprained her ankle and is a prisoner in that queer, lonely little
+cottage, where her father lived like a hermit. The impression gains
+ground that Mr. St. Vincent was something of an adventurer, and that
+his connection with the business has been an immense misfortune for the
+Grandons; that his daughter is a wild, hoydenish creature, who climbs
+rocks and scales fences, and is quite unpresentable in society, though
+she may know how to sit still in church.
+
+Floyd Grandon would very much like to escape this dinner, but he
+cannot. His position as head of the house, his own house, too, his
+coming fame, his prestige as a traveller, make him too important an
+object to be able to consult his own wishes. Then there are old
+neighbors, who hold out a hand of cordial welcome, who are interested
+in his success, and whom he has no disposition to slight.
+
+He takes madame in to dinner, who is regal in velvet and lace. There is
+a little whisper about the old love, a suspicion if something that
+cannot quite be explained had not happened with the St. Vincent girl,
+the "old love" would be on again. There is a delicate impression that
+madame was persuaded into her French marriage very much against her
+will. She is charming, fascinating, perfection. She distances other
+women so far that she even extinguishes jealousy.
+
+It certainly is a delightful dinner party, and Mrs. Grandon is in her
+glory. She almost forgives Violet her existence for the opportuneness
+of the accident. She is just as much mistress as ever, and to be
+important is Mrs. Grandon's great delight. She hates secondary
+positions. To be a dowager without the duchess is the great cross of
+her life. If Mr. Grandon could have left her wealthy, the sting of his
+death would not be half so bitter.
+
+It is late when the guests disperse. Violet has insisted that he shall
+not give her an anxious thought, but he is a man, and he does some
+incipient envying on her account. Of course to have her up-stairs, an
+invalid, would not better the position, but to have her _here_, bright
+and well and joyous, full of quaint little charms, and he has never
+known how full, how over-brimming she was with all manner of
+fascinating devices until the last few days. If his mother could
+realize that under this courteous and attentive exterior, the breeding
+of the polished man of the world, he is thinking only of Violet in
+white wrappers, with a cluster of flowers at her throat, she would be
+more than ever amazed at his idiocy.
+
+There is to be a small company at Mrs. Brade's the next evening, a
+reception to "dear Laura."
+
+"You _must_ come," declares Mrs. Brade, emphatically. "We ought to
+have a chance at our old friend, and you and the boys grew up together.
+Do you remember how you used to roast corn and apples at the kitchen
+fire, and go over your Latin? Why, it seems only yesterday, and all my
+children are married and gone, save Lucia."
+
+"I shall have to be excused," Floyd Grandon says, in a quiet tone, but
+with a smile that is fully as decisive. "I shall owe to-morrow evening
+to my wife, who cannot yet leave her room."
+
+"How very sad and unfortunate! Are we never to have a sight of her, Mr.
+Grandon, except the glimpses in the carriage and at church?"
+
+"Certainly," he answers. "Circumstances have kept us from society, and
+I have really had no time for its claims, but I hope to have more
+presently for it, as well as for her."
+
+"We shall be glad to see you, never doubt that. Lucia will be so
+disappointed to-morrow evening."
+
+Grandon bows. Is there anything more to say proper to the occasion? He
+has heard so much during the last three months that he has grown quite
+nervous on the subject of society etiquette.
+
+On the morrow Violet is anxious to hear about the dinner. She is young
+and full of interest in gay doings, in spite of her early sorrow. He
+makes blunders over the dresses, and they both laugh gayly; he
+describes the guests and the old friends, and the complimentary
+inquiries about her.
+
+"I wish you could be there on Thursday evening," he says, regretfully.
+"That is to be a party with dancing, and plenty of young
+people,--Laura's companions."
+
+"And I have never been to a real party in all my life!" she cries. "I
+suppose I couldn't dance, but I could look on, and there is my lovely
+dress!"
+
+"You shall have a party for your own self, and all the dancing you
+want," he answers.
+
+"Can _you_ waltz, Mr. Grandon?" she asks, after a moment's thought.
+
+He laughs. The idea of Floyd Grandon, traveller and explorer, whirling
+round in a giddy waltz!
+
+"It isn't so ridiculous," she says, her face full of lovely, girlish
+resentment. "At school we learned to waltz, but it was with girls,
+and--I couldn't ever waltz with any one but you, because--because----"
+and her eyes fill up with tears.
+
+"No," he answers, quickly, "I shouldn't ever want you to. I will--I
+mean we will both practise up. I did waltz when I was first in India,
+but my dancing days came to an end."
+
+She remembers. There was the long sea-voyage and the death of Cecil's
+mother.
+
+"My darling," he says, distressed at her grave face and not dreaming of
+what is in her thoughts, "when you are well once again, and the right
+time comes, you shall dance to your heart's content. I will take you to
+a ball,--to dozens of them,--for you have had no real young-girl life.
+And now, as soon as you can endure the fatigue, we will go to the city
+to operas and theatres. I was thinking, that first night you were hurt,
+what a little hermit you had been, and that we would give the
+proprieties the go-by for once."
+
+He is leaning over her reclining chair, looking down into her velvety
+eyes and watching the restless sweep of the long bronze lashes. The
+whole face is electrified with delicious rapture, and she stretches up
+her arms to clasp him about the neck.
+
+"Oh, you thought of me, then!" she cries, with a tremulous joy. "You
+were planning pleasures for me, and I just laid and slept,"
+remorsefully.
+
+"But if you had not slept I should have been ill at ease, and could
+have planned no pleasures. It was your bounden duty."
+
+He kisses her fondly. It is quite a new delight. Is he really falling
+in love with her? as the phrase goes. It will be delightful to have
+duty and inclination join.
+
+"I shall be _so_ careful," she says, when they come back to a
+reasonable composure. "Dr. Hendricks said if I was very careful and not
+impatient to get about, my ankle would be just as strong as ever. I
+want it to be--perfect, so I can dance all night; people do sometimes.
+Oh, if I had hurt myself so that I never could get well!" and her face
+is pale with terror.
+
+"Don't think of it, my darling."
+
+Cecil comes up, full of importance and in a Holland apron that covers
+her from chin almost to ankles. "I have made a cake," she announces,
+"and we have just put it in the oven. It is for lunch. You will surely
+stay, papa!"
+
+"Surely, surely! Who dressed you up, Cecil?" and he smiles.
+
+"This used to be mamma's," she says, with great dignity. "Denise made
+it when she lived with her and used to help her work. There is another
+one, trimmed with red, and I am going to have that also."
+
+Violet smiles and holds out her hand; Cecil takes that and slips on her
+father's knee, and the love-making is interrupted. But there is a
+strange stir and tumult in the young wife's soul and a shyness comes
+over her; she feels her husband's eyes upon her, and they seem to go
+through every pulse. What is it that so stops her breath, that sends a
+sudden heat to her face and then a vague shiver that is not coldness or
+terror?
+
+Then he wonders when the professor, who has gone on a brief lecturing
+experience, will be back; they are counting on him for the party, and
+will be extremely disappointed if he should not reach Grandon Park in
+time.
+
+"And he will be surprised to find that some one else has come in and
+taken possession," says Violet.
+
+"He is so nice!" remarks Cecil, gravely. "I like him so much better
+than I do Uncle Eugene. What makes him my uncle?" with a puzzled frown
+on the bright face and a resentful inflection in her voice.
+
+"Fate," answers her father, which proves a still more difficult enigma
+to her and keeps her silent many moments.
+
+The lunch is up-stairs, for Violet is not allowed to leave the room,
+though all bruises and strains are well and the ankle is gaining every
+day. The father, mother, and child get on without any trouble, though
+Cecil is rather imperious at times. Denise will not have any one to
+help her, and she is in a little heaven of delight as she watches the
+two. Floyd Grandon loves his wife, as is meet and right, and she is
+learning to love him in a modest, careful way, as a young wife should.
+Such a bride as Laura would shock Denise.
+
+Floyd absents himself from the great house, and sends Eugene, who is
+nothing loth, to wait upon the ladies and perform their behests. Laura
+does not care so much, and Mrs. Grandon is in her element, but madame
+feels that as the child was her _bete noire_ in the summer, so is the
+wife now,--a something that keeps him preoccupied. She is very anxious
+to see the husband and wife together, but every hour seems so filled,
+and she cannot ask Floyd to take her. "After the party," says Laura,
+"there will be plenty of time. She is nothing to see, but, of course,
+we will pay her the compliment."
+
+This evening reception is really a great thing to Laura, who feels that
+it is particularly for her glory, as the dinner was an honor to her
+mother. It is not cold weather yet, and the lawn is to be hung with
+colored lanterns, the rooms are to put on all their bravery; she wants
+to say to the world, her little world, "This is the house Arthur
+Delancy took me from, even if I had no great fortune. I can vie with
+the rest of you."
+
+Gertrude comes up to the cottage in the morning for a little quiet and
+rest. She is the only one who has paid Violet the compliment of a call.
+"And I don't at all care for the fuss and crowd," she says. "I shall be
+so glad when it is over and one isn't routed from room to room. Oh, how
+lovely and cosey you are here!"
+
+"Mr. Grandon," Violet begins, with entreaty in tone and eyes, "couldn't
+we have the professor's chair up to-day, just for Gertrude; it is so
+deliciously restful. It is shocking for me to indulge in comfort and
+see other people sitting in uneasy chairs."
+
+Floyd brings it up. Gertrude is so tall that it seems made for her. The
+soft, thick silk of the cushions, with a curious Eastern fragrance, the
+springs to raise and to lower, to sleep and to lounge, are perfection.
+Gertrude sinks into it with her graceful languor, and for once looks
+neither old nor faded, but delicate and high-bred. Her complexion has
+certainly improved,--it is less sallow and has lost the sodden look;
+and her eyes are pensive when she smiles.
+
+She proves very entertaining. Perhaps a little cynicism is mixed with
+her descriptions of the guests and their raiment, but it adds a
+piquancy in which Floyd has been utterly deficient. Silks and satins,
+and point and Venetian seem real laces when a woman talks about them.
+And the prospect for to-night is like a bit of enchantment.
+
+"Oh, I should like to see it!" Violet cries, eagerly. "I wonder if it
+will ever look so lovely again. And the orchestra! I wish I could be
+down in the pretty summer-house looking and listening. Will they dance
+any out of doors, think?"
+
+"We used to waltz on the long balconies. I dare say they will again.
+Laura had a delightful ball just before papa was taken ill, when she
+and Arthur were first engaged. Why, it is just about a year ago, but it
+seems so long since then," and Gertrude sighs. "Floyd ought to give you
+a ball when you begin to go into society. Marcia and I had balls when
+we were eighteen."
+
+"I shall not be eighteen until next June," says Violet.
+
+"Oh, how young you are! Why, I must seem--And think how much older
+Floyd is!"
+
+"You seem pleasant and lovely to me. What does a few years signify?"
+protests Violet.
+
+Gertrude watches her curiously for some seconds. "I hope you will
+always be very happy, and that Floyd will be fond of you."
+
+"Of course he will," returns Violet, with a sudden flush. He is fond of
+her now, she is quite sure. She can remember so many deliciously sweet
+moments that she could tell to no one, and her heart beats with quick
+bounds.
+
+Gertrude knows more of the world and is silent. What if some day Floyd
+should become suddenly blinded by madame's fascinations? It is always
+so in novels.
+
+Somewhere about mid-afternoon there is a breezy voice in the house, and
+a step comes up the stair which is not Grandon's. A light tap, and the
+partly open door is pushed wider.
+
+"Mr. Grandon allows me the privilege of making a call of condolence,"
+the professor says, with his cheery smile, that wrinkles his face in
+good-humored lines. "My dear Mrs. Grandon, did you really forget you
+had no wings when you attempted to fly? Accept my sympathies, my very
+warmest, for I was once laid up in the same way, without the excuse of
+the stairs. Ah, Miss Grandon," and he holds out his hand to her, "have
+you given up the pleasure at the park?"
+
+"I wouldn't let her give up the reception," interrupts Violet. "No one
+is to give it up for me," and she remembers suddenly that no one has
+offered.
+
+"I should be a great deal happier and better pleased to remain here,"
+responds Gertrude, "but Laura would be vexed. After all, it is a good
+deal to her and madame. Mrs. Floyd Grandon will take her turn next
+year, when she arrives at legal age. She is yet a mere child."
+
+"It is so, _mignonne_, and you could not dance with a lame foot."
+
+"You are going?" Violet says.
+
+"Yes, I hurried back. Mrs. Delancy was so kind as to send a note. And I
+had a desire to see my friend's house on this occasion. But why were
+you not moved?" and he turns his questioning eyes on Violet.
+
+"The doctor forbade it," answers Violet. "And I want to get thoroughly
+well, so I obey."
+
+"That is good, that is good," replies the professor, in a tone of the
+utmost commendation.
+
+They have a most agreeable chat until Mr. Grandon comes in, when Denise
+sends up some tea and wafer biscuits that would tempt an anchorite. The
+carriage is at the door for Gertrude, and an urgent note for Floyd, who
+has been deep in business all the afternoon, making up Eugene's
+shortcomings.
+
+"You must go," Violet says, but it is half questioningly.
+
+"Yes. Gertrude, I shall be very glad to have you keep me in
+countenance. We will discourse cynically upon the follies of the day
+and young people in general."
+
+"No," Violet says, with pretty peremptoriness. "Gertrude is going to be
+young to-night. Oh, what will you wear?"
+
+"There is nothing but black silk," answers Gertrude, "and that never
+was especially becoming, as I can indulge in no accessories. But
+Laura's dress is perfection. The palest, loveliest pink you can
+imagine, and no end of lace. Luckily, Mr. Delancy has not his fortune
+to make."
+
+Floyd kisses his wife tenderly and whispers some hurried words of
+comfort. When they are gone the professor drops into his own luxurious
+chair and does not allow Mrs. Grandon time for despondency. He has an
+Old World charm; he has, too, the other charm of a young and fresh
+heart when he is not digging into antiquities.
+
+Some way the talk comes around to Gertrude. She is so delicate, so
+melancholy, she shrinks so away from all the happy confusion that most
+women love. "Is it her grief for her father?" he asks.
+
+"I don't think it all that," says Violet, with a most beguiling flush.
+"There was another sorrow in her life, a--she loved some one very much.
+If he had died it would not have been as bad, but--oh, I wonder if I
+_ought_ to tell?" and she finds so much encouragement in his eyes that
+she goes on. "He was--very unworthy."
+
+"Ah!" The professor strokes and fondles his long, sunny beard. "But she
+should cast him out, she should not keep pale and thin, and in ill
+health, and brood over the trouble."
+
+"I do not believe her life is--well, you see they all have other
+pursuits and are fond of society, and she stays too much alone,"
+explains Violet, with a perplexed brow. "She is so good to me, I like
+her."
+
+"Who could help being good to thee, _mignonne_?" and the look with
+which he studies the flower-like face brings a soft flush to it.
+Torture would not make her complain, but she feels in her inmost soul
+that Gertrude, alone, has been even kind. And she wishes somehow she
+could make him like her better than any of the others, even the
+beautiful madame, about whom he is enthusiastic.
+
+"Bah!" he says. "Why should one go mourning for an unworthy love? When
+it is done and over there is the end. When you are once disenchanted,
+how can you believe?"
+
+"But you are not disenchanted," says Violet, stoutly. "You have
+believed and loved, you have made a little world of your own, and even
+if it does go down in the great ocean you can never quite forget it was
+there."
+
+"But there are other worlds. See, Mrs. Grandon, when I was
+two-and-twenty I loved to madness. She was eighteen and adorable, but
+her mother would not hear to a betrothment. I had all my fortune yet to
+make. I threw up my hopes and aims and took to commercial pursuits,
+which I hated. We exchanged vows and promised to wait, and the end of
+it was that she married a handsome young fellow with a fortune. I went
+back to my books. A few years afterward I saw her, stout, rosy, and
+happy, with her two children, and then--well, I did not want her. The
+life she delighted in would have been ashes in my mouth. It was better,
+much better. People are not all wise at two-and-twenty."
+
+"If Gertrude had something to do," says Violet, "and that is where men
+are fortunate. They can try so many things."
+
+The professor goes on stroking his head, and drops into a revery. "Yes,
+it is hard," he says, "it is hard." And he wonders not at the colorless
+life.
+
+But he must smoke his pipe and then dress for the party, so he bids
+Violet a cordial good evening. She feels a little tired after all the
+excitements of the day, and is glad to have Denise put her in bed,
+where she lies dreamily and wonders what love is like.
+
+Meanwhile the reception is at its height, and it is certainly a
+success. Laura has discriminated in this affair, like a shrewd woman of
+the world that she is already. The dinner had to satisfy the _amour
+propre_ of old friends; this was allowed a wider latitude. The rooms
+are brilliantly lighted, and glow with autumn flowers; the wide out of
+doors with its rich fragrance shows in colored tones and blended tints,
+sending long rays over the river. Floyd Grandon may well be proud of
+his home, and to-night, in spite of some discomforts, he feels that he
+would not exchange it for anything he has seen that it was possible for
+him to possess. If Violet were only here! How she would enjoy the
+lights, the music, the throngs of beautifully dressed women! Floyd
+Grandon is no cynic. He admires beauty and grace and refinement, and it
+is here at its best, its finest. Not mere youthfulness. There are
+distinguished people, who would have gone twice the distance to meet
+Mr. Grandon and Prof. Freilgrath. The Latimers are really enchanted,
+and Mrs. Delancy rises in the esteem of many who have looked upon her
+as simply a bright and pretty girl who has made a good marriage.
+
+Indirectly this is of immense benefit to the business, though that was
+farthest from Laura's thoughts. There have been rumors that "Grandon &
+Co." have not prospered of late, and there is a curiously indefinite
+feeling about them in business circles. The rumor gains credence from
+this on, that Floyd Grandon's private fortune is something fabulous,
+and that for family reasons he stands back of all possible mishap; that
+a misfortune will not be allowed.
+
+If Eugene is not a success amid the toil and moil of business, he
+shines out pre-eminently on such occasions as these. His handsome face
+and fine society breeding render him not only a favorite, but a great
+attraction. Not a girl but is honored by his smile, and the elder
+ladies give him that charming indulgence which is incense to his
+vanity. Eugene Grandon is too thoroughly selfish to be silly or even
+weak, and this very strength of demeanor carries a certain weight, even
+with men, and is irresistible to the tenderer sex.
+
+If there is a spot that is touched it is his utter admiration for
+madame. She treats him as if he were still in the tender realms of
+youth; she calls him Eugene, and asks pretty favors of him in a
+half-caressing manner that is not to be misunderstood. She puts the
+years between them in a very distinct manner. She will have no
+"philandering." He _belongs_ to the young girls. She dances with him
+several times, and then chooses partners for him. She is regal
+to-night, that goes without saying. Her velvet is a pale lavender, that
+in certain lights looks almost frost white, and it fits her perfect
+figure admirably.
+
+Laura has been disappointed in the wish of her soul, her grand stroke.
+
+"Floyd," she said, when he came down, looking the faultless gentleman,
+"you must open the dancing with Madame Lepelletier. You can walk
+through a quadrille, so you need not begin with excuses. I have
+arranged the set."
+
+"In this you _must_ excuse me, Laura," he answers, with quiet decision.
+"I have not danced for years, and, under the circumstances----"
+
+"You don't mean you are going to turn silly, just because--your wife is
+not here?" and her authority dominates his. "It would not be decent for
+her to dance if she were here! We never even went to a dancing party
+after papa's death, until--well, not until this autumn, and I wouldn't
+marry before six months had elapsed. Then, I have everything planned, I
+have even spoken to madame. O Floyd!" and seeing his face still
+unrelenting, her eyes fill with tears.
+
+"My dear Laura----" A woman's slow tears move him inexpressibly, while
+noisy crying angers him, and he bends to kiss her. "Do not feel hurt,
+my child. Command me in anything else, but this I cannot do."
+
+"Oh, I know, she made you promise, the mean, jealous little thing!"
+
+"Hush," he commands. "She asked no favors and I made no promises. She
+would not care if I danced every set."
+
+"That is just it!" cries Laura, angrily. "She doesn't care, she doesn't
+know----"
+
+"She is my wife!" He walks away, so indignant the first moment that he
+all but resolves to return to Violet, then his duty as host presents
+itself. He and the professor and a few others keep outside of the magic
+circle, but no one would suspect from his demeanor that he had been
+ruffled for an instant. There is enough enjoyment in the rambles about
+the lawn and smoking on the balcony. It is the perfection of an early
+autumn night; in fact, for two or three days it has been unusually
+warm.
+
+Gertrude looks quite well for her. Madame has added a few incomparable
+toilet touches. Floyd is attentive to her, and Prof. Freilgrath takes
+her to supper, promenades with her, and is quite delightful for an old
+bookworm. Mr. Latimer talks to her and finds her a great improvement on
+Marcia, but the German keeps thinking over her poor little story. If
+there _was_ something for her to do! and he racks his brain. There are
+no crowds of nephews and nieces, there is no house to keep, there is no
+gardening, and he remembers his own busy countrywomen.
+
+A little whisper floats about in the air that young Mrs. Grandon is not
+_quite_--but no one finishes the sentence that Laura so points with a
+shrug. It seems a pity that a man of his position and attainments
+should stumble upon such a _mesalliance_. The sprained ankle is all
+very well, but the feeling is that some lack in gift or grace or
+education is quite as potent as any physical mishap in keeping her away
+to-night. Gertrude, out of pure good-nature, praises her, but Gertrude
+is a little _passe_ and rather out of society. The professor speaks
+admiringly, but he is Mr. Grandon's _confrere_, and a scholar is not a
+very good judge of a young girl's capacity to fill such a place in the
+world as Mrs. Floyd Grandon's _ought_ to be. But all this creates in
+his favor a romantic sympathy, and this evening men and women alike
+have found him charming.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+Of a truth there are many unexpected things in a long life.--ARISTOPHANES.
+
+
+"With whom did you dance?" Violet asks, her face one lovely glow of
+eager interest; jealousy and she are unknown at this period.
+
+"Dance? an old fellow like me?"
+
+"You are not old!" and her face is a delicious study of indignation.
+"You are not as old as the professor."
+
+"But he did not dance, and Gertrude did not dance."
+
+"Oh," her face clouds over, "are people--do they get too old to dance?"
+
+"They certainly do."
+
+"And you said you would dance with me!" she cries, in despairing
+accents.
+
+He laughs heartily, and yet it is very sweet to witness her abandon of
+disappointment.
+
+"My darling, I shall not be too old to dance with you until I am bald
+and rheumatic and generally shaky," he answers, in a fond tone.
+
+"Then it was because--_was_ it because _I_ was not there?"
+
+"It certainly was"; and he smiles down into the velvety brown eyes.
+"And it was very base manners, too."
+
+"Oh," with a long, quivering breath, that moves her whole slender body,
+"how thoughtful you were! And did madame dance much?" she asks,
+presently. "It must be lovely to see her dance. What did she wear?"
+
+"Violet velvet. Well, the color of some very pale wood violets, such as
+I used to find hereabouts when I was a lad. Last summer I found another
+kind."
+
+She considers a moment before she sees the point, and then claps her
+hands delightedly.
+
+"They are all coming over to call this afternoon, I believe. Isn't
+there some sort of pretty gown among those things that came from New
+York?"
+
+"Yes, a lovely white cashmere, with bits of purple here and there."
+
+"And I shall carry you down-stairs. We must have a fire made in the
+professor's parlor. It will be your reception. The ladies go home on
+Saturday."
+
+"And now tell me all about it, last night, I mean. Begin at the very
+first," she says, with a bewitching imperiousness.
+
+In spite of himself a quick color goes over his face. The "very first"
+was Laura's impossible command. Then he laughs confusedly and
+answers,--
+
+"The professor was the earliest guest. Then the train came in and the
+people multiplied."
+
+"But I want to hear about the dresses and the music and the lovely
+lighted lawn."
+
+The professor comes up and is impressed in the arduous service, but
+they are not as much at home as in the description of a ruin, though it
+is a great deal merrier. Cecil strays in and climbs over her father's
+knee. Her enthusiasm spends itself largely in the kitchen with Denise,
+compounding startling dishes, playing house in one corner with a family
+of dolls, or talking to the gentle, wise-eyed greyhound.
+
+After lunch Floyd goes down to the park and rummages through Violet's
+wardrobe in a state of hapless bewilderment, calling finally upon
+Gertrude to make a proper selection. Denise attires her young mistress,
+who looks really pale after this enforced seclusion. Mr. Grandon
+carries her down-stairs; and if it is not a conventional parlor, the
+room still has some picturesque aspects of its own, and the two
+luxurious wolf-robes on the floor are grudged afterward, as Laura steps
+on them. There is a great jar full of autumn branches and berries in
+one corner that sends out a sort of sunset radiance, and a cabinet of
+china and various curious matters. But the fire of logs is the crowning
+glory. The light dances and shimmers, the logs crackle and send up
+glowing sparks, the easy-chairs look tempting. They are all in the
+midst of an animated discussion when the carriage drives around. At the
+last moment Mrs. Grandon has given out with a convenient headache and
+sends regrets.
+
+Violet _is_ curious to see Madame Lepelletier. The lovely woman sweeps
+across the room and bends over the chair to take Violet's hand. It is
+small and soft and white, and the one slippered foot might vie with
+Cinderella's. The clear, fine complexion, the abundant hair with
+rippling sheen that almost defies any correct color tint, and is
+chestnut, bronze, and dusky by turns, the sweet, dimpled mouth, the
+serene, unconscious youth, the truth and honor in the lustrous velvet
+eyes: she is not prepared to meet so powerful a rival. The Grandons
+have all underrated Violet St. Vincent. Floyd Grandon is not a man to
+kindle quickly, but there may come a time when all the adoration of the
+man's nature will be aroused by that simple girl.
+
+"Oh," says Laura, pointedly, "are you well enough to come down-stairs?
+Now we heard such a dreadful report that you could hardly stir."
+
+"I was not allowed to stir at first." Violet's voice is trained to the
+niceties of enunciation, and can really match madame's. Laura's has a
+rather crude strain beside it, the acridness of youth that has not yet
+ripened. "The doctor has forbidden my trying my foot for some time to
+come."
+
+"She has two--what do you call them?--loyal knights to obey her
+slightest frown," declares the professor.
+
+"Oh, do I frown?" She smiles now, and the coming color makes her look
+like a lovely flower.
+
+"No, no, it is nod or beck. I cannot always remember your little
+compliments, and I make blunders," says the professor, quickly.
+
+"She is extremely fortunate," replies madame, who smiles her sweetest
+smile, and it is one of rare art and beauty. "I am sorry to have missed
+you through this little visit," she continues, with a most fascinating,
+delicate regret.
+
+"And I am so sorry." She _is_ sorry now; she feels more at home with
+Madame Lepelletier in five minutes than she does with any of the
+family, Gertrude excepted. She knows now that she should have enjoyed
+the reception, even if she had no right to dance.
+
+Laura spies out the china, and she has the craze badly. Madame turns to
+inspect the cabinet. There is a true Capo di Monte, and some priceless
+Nankin, and here a set of rare intaglios. Some one must have had taste
+and discernment. Laura would like to cavil, but dares not. The
+professor tells of curiosities picked up in the buried cities of
+centuries ago,--lamps and pitchers and vases and jewels that he has
+sent to museums abroad,--and stirs them all with envy.
+
+During this talk Violet listens with an air of interest. She knows at
+least some of the points of good breeding, decides madame. She also
+asks Grandon to bring two or three odd articles from Denise's cupboard.
+
+"You don't admit that you actually drink out of them," cries Laura, in
+amaze, at last.
+
+"Why, yes," and Violet laughs in pure delight. If there was a tint of
+triumph in it, Laura would turn savage, but it is so generous, so
+genial. "I wish you would accept that," she says, "and drink your
+chocolate out of it every day. Won't you please wrap it some way?" and
+she turns her eyes beseechingly to Floyd.
+
+The love of possession triumphs over disdain. Laura is tempted so
+sorely, and Floyd brings some soft, tough, wrinkled paper, that looks
+as if it might have been steeped in amber, and gently wraps the
+precious cup and saucer, while Laura utters thanks. They all politely
+hope that she will soon be sufficiently recovered to come home, and
+madame prefers a gentle request that she shall be allowed to offer her
+some hospitality presently when she begins to go into society.
+
+"Oh," declares Violet, when the two gentlemen return from their
+farewell devoirs, "how utterly lovely she is! I do not suppose
+princesses are _always_ elegant, but she seems like one, the most
+beautiful of them all; and her voice is just enchanting! I could
+imagine myself being bewitched by her. I could sit and look and
+listen----"
+
+"_Mignonne_, thy husband will be jealous," says the professor.
+
+Floyd laughs at that.
+
+"Well, it was a charming call. I was a little afraid Laura would be
+vexed over the cup; you see, I don't know the propriety of gift-giving,
+but I _do_ know the delight"; and her face is in a lovely glow. "Why do
+you suppose people care so much for those things? Papa was always
+collecting. Why, _we_ could almost open a museum."
+
+"You can sell them, in a reverse of fortune," says the professor, with
+an amusing smile.
+
+Floyd inquires if she will return to her room, but Freilgrath insists
+that they shall have tea in here. Mrs. Grandon is his first lady guest.
+
+The carriage meanwhile rolls away in silence. Laura and Gertrude
+bickered all the way over, and now, if Gertrude had enough courage and
+was aggressive by nature, she would retort, but peace is so good that
+she enjoys every precious moment of it; but at night, when Laura is
+lingering in Madame Lepelletier's room, while Arthur smokes the remnant
+of his cigar on the porch, she says, with a sort of ironical gayety,--
+
+"Well, were you quite extinguished by Mrs. Floyd? You seem dumb and
+silent! She looked exceptionally well, toned down and all that, though
+I did expect to find her playing with a doll."
+
+"She is quite a pretty girl," returns madame, leisurely, carefully
+folding her exquisite lace fichu and laying it back in its scented box.
+"Very young, of course, and will be for years to come, yet tolerably
+presentable for an _ingenue_. And after all, Laura, she is your
+brother's wife."
+
+"But the awful idiocy of Floyd marrying her! And demure as she looks,
+she makes desperately large eyes at the professor. So you see she has
+already acquired _one_ requisite of fashionable life."
+
+"There will be less to learn," replies madame, with charming
+good-nature.
+
+"Oh, I suppose we _shall_ have to take her up some time, but I can
+never get over my disappointment, never! It is seeing her in _that_
+place that makes me so savage!" and she kisses the handsome woman, who
+forgives her; and who hugs to her heart the secret consciousness that
+Floyd Grandon does not love his wife, though he may be fond of her.
+
+Violet improves rapidly, and is taken out to drive, for Floyd cannot
+bear to have her lose the fine weather. They read a little French
+together, and he corrects her rather too provincial pronunciation. Her
+education is fairly good in the accomplishments, and she will never
+shame him by any ignorance, unless in some of the little usages of
+society that he knows no more about than she. Her innocent sweetness
+grows upon him daily; he is glad, yes, really glad that he has married
+her.
+
+When she does finally return home she is chilled again by the contrast.
+Marcia has gone to Philadelphia; Mrs. Grandon is cold to a point of
+severity, and most untender to Cecil. Her surprise is a beautiful new
+piano, for Laura's has gone to the city. She begins at once with
+Cecil's lessons, and this engrosses her to some extent. Cecil is quick
+and rapturously fond of music, "real music" as she calls it, but scales
+and exercises are simply horrible. Gertrude comes in now and then,
+oddly enough, and insists that it rather amuses her. She sits with her
+in the evenings when Floyd is away, and often accompanies her in a
+drive. Violet does not imagine there is any ulterior motive in all
+this, but Gertrude is really desirous of helping to keep the peace.
+When she is present Mrs. Grandon is not so scornful or so aggressive.
+Gertrude does not want hard or stinging words uttered that might stir
+up resentment. If Violet cannot love, at least let her respect. It will
+be an old story presently, and the mother will feel less bitter about
+it.
+
+It is such a strange thing for Gertrude to think of any one beside
+herself that her heart warms curiously, seems to come out of her
+everlasting novels and takes an interest in humanity, in nature, to go
+back to the dreams of her lost youth. Violet is so sweet, so tender! If
+she had known any such girl friend then, but she and Marcia never have
+been real friends. There is another delicate thought in Gertrude's
+soul. Laura and her mother have sneered about the professor, with whom
+they are all charmed, nevertheless; and she means that no evil tongue
+shall say with truth that Violet is alone too much with him or lays
+herself out to attract him. She furbishes up her old knowledge and
+talks with them, she reads the books he has recommended to Violet, and
+they discuss them together until it appears as if she were the
+interested one. She nearly always goes with her to the cottage.
+Sometimes she wonders why she does all this when it is such a bore. Why
+should she care about Violet particularly? But when the soft arms are
+clasped round her neck and the sweet, fragrant lips throb with tender
+kisses, she wakes to a sad and secret knowledge of wasted years.
+
+To Violet there comes one crowning glory, that is the promised
+_matinee_. Miss Neilson is to play _Juliet_, and though Floyd considers
+it rather weak and sweet, Violet is enraptured.
+
+"Would you like to go to a lunch or dinner at Madame Lepelletier's?" he
+asks.
+
+Violet considers a moment. She cannot tell why, but she longs for this
+pleasure _alone_ with Mr. Grandon. It will be her first real enjoyment
+with him.
+
+"Would you--rather?"
+
+There is an exquisite timidity in her voice, the touch of deference to
+the husband's wishes that cannot but be flattering. She will go if _he_
+desires it. He has only to speak. He remembers some one else who never
+considered his pleasure or desire.
+
+"My child, no!" and he folds her to his heart. "She wants you to come,
+some time; she has spoken of it."
+
+"I should like this to be just between _us_." There is the loveliest
+little inflection on the plural. "And I should like to go there, too."
+
+"Then it shall be just between _us_." Something in his eyes makes the
+light in hers waver and go down; she trembles and would like to run
+away, only he is holding her so tightly.
+
+"What is it?" he asks, with a quick breath.
+
+Ah, if she had known then, if he had known, even! He had never watched
+the delicate blooming of a girl's heart and knew not how to translate
+its throbs. He kisses her in a dazed way, and no kisses were ever so
+sweet.
+
+"Well," he says, presently, "we will let Cecil go over to Denise in the
+morning"--he can even put his child away for her--"and keep our own
+secret."
+
+It is delicious to have a secret with him. She dreams of it all the
+long evening; he is looking over some proofs with the professor. And
+she can hardly conceal her joy the next morning; she feels guilty as
+she looks Gertrude in the face.
+
+The city is very gay this Saturday morning. They look in some shop
+windows, they go to a tempting lunch, and then enter the charming
+little theatre, already filling up with beautifully dressed women and
+some such exquisite young girls. She wishes for the first time that she
+was radiantly beautiful; she does not dream how much of this is attire,
+well chosen and costly raiment.
+
+She listens through the overture; she is not much moved during the
+first act. Miss Neilson is pretty and winsome in her quaint dress, with
+her round, white arms on her nurse's knee, looking up to her eyes; she
+is respectful to her stately mother, and she cares for her lover. The
+lights, the many faces about her, the progress of the play interest,
+but it is when she comes to the balcony scene that Violet is stirred.
+The longing, lingering love, the good night said over and over, the
+lover who cannot make parting seem possible, who turns again and again.
+She catches the tenderness in Miss Neilson's eyes; ah, it is divine
+passion now, and she is touched, thrilled, electrified. She leans over
+a little herself, and her pure, innocent young face, with its dewy eyes
+and parted, cherry-red lips are a study, a delight. One or two rather
+ennuied-looking men watch her, and Floyd forgives them. It seems to him
+he has never seen anything more beautiful. The unconscious, impassioned
+face, with its vivid sense of newness, its first thrilling interest,
+indifferent to all things except the young lovers, steady, strong,
+tender, sympathetic. Even women smile and then sigh, envying her the
+rapt delight of thus listening.
+
+When it is over Violet turns her tearful eyes to her husband in mute
+questioning. This surely cannot be the end, the reward of love? For an
+instant the man's heart is thrilled with profoundest pain and pity for
+the hard lesson that she, like all others, must learn. He feels so
+helpless to answer that trust, that supreme innocence.
+
+Everybody stirs, rises. Violet looks amazed, but he draws her hand
+through his arm. Several new friends nod and smile, wondering if that
+is Floyd Grandon's child-wife that he has so imprudently or strangely
+married? He hurries out a little. He does not want to speak to any one.
+In the crush Violet clings closely; he even takes both hands as he sees
+the startled look in her eyes.
+
+The fresh, crisp air brings her back to her own world and time, but her
+eyes are still lustrous, her cheeks have an indescribable, delicious
+color, and her lips are quivering in their rose red.
+
+"Where shall we go?" he says. "Will you have some fruit or an ice, or
+something more solid?"
+
+"Oh!" and her long inspiration is almost like a sigh. "I couldn't eat
+anything--after that! _Did_ they really die? Oh, if _Romeo_ had not
+come so soon, _quite_ so soon!" and her sweet, piteous voice pierces
+him.
+
+"My darling, you must not take it so to heart," he entreats.
+
+"But they _were_ happy in that other country. And they went together,"
+glancing up with an exquisite hope in her eyes. "It was better than to
+live separate. Mr. Grandon, _do_ you know what love like that is?"
+
+She asks it in all innocency. She would be very miserable at this
+moment if she thought she had come to the best love of her life. Her
+training has been an obedient marriage, a duty of love that is quite
+possible, that shall come some time hence.
+
+"No," he says, slowly. He really dare not tell her any falsehood. He
+did not love Cecil's mother this way, and though he may come to love
+Violet with the highest and purest passion, he does not do so now. "No,
+my dear child, very few people do."
+
+"But they could, they might!" and there is a ring of exultation in her
+tone.
+
+"Some few might," he admits, almost against his better judgment.
+
+"Why, do you not see that it is all, _all_ there is of real joy, of
+perfect bliss? There is nothing else that can so thrill the soul."
+
+They surge against a crowd on the corner crossing. He pauses and
+glances at her. "Shall we go home?" he asks, "or somewhere else? If it
+is home, we may as well take a car."
+
+"Oh, home!" she answers. So they take the car and there is no more
+talking, but he watches the face of youth and happy thoughts, and is
+glad that it is his very own.
+
+The train is crowded as well. An instinctive shyness would forbid her
+talking much under the eyes of strangers, if good breeding did not. She
+settles in her corner and thinks the good night over and over, until
+she again sees Miss Neilson's love-lit, impassioned countenance.
+
+The sun has dropped down and it is quite cold now. They must go for
+Cecil.
+
+"Oh," cries Violet, remorsefully, "we forgot Cecil! We never brought
+her anything! But I have a lovely box of creams at home; only you do
+not like her to eat so much sweets."
+
+"Give her the creams." and he smiles at her tenderness.
+
+Cecil welcomes them joyfully. She has two lovely little iced cakes
+baked in patty-pans.
+
+"One is for you, mamma----" Then she suddenly checks herself. "O
+Denise, we ought to have baked three; we forgot papa!" she says, with
+childish _naivete_.
+
+"Well, mamma will divide hers with me."
+
+A curious feeling runs over him. The child and the father have
+forgotten each other an instant, but the child and the mother
+remembered.
+
+It is dark when they reach home. The spacious hall is all aglow with
+light and warmth. In the parlor sits the professor, and Cecil, catching
+a sight of his beaming face, runs to him.
+
+Gertrude comes out, and putting her arms around Violet's neck, kisses
+her with so unusual a fervor that Violet stares.
+
+"I have something to tell you after dinner. You shall be the first. Oh,
+what a cold little face, but sweet as a rose! There is the bell."
+
+They hurry off and soon make themselves presentable. The professor
+brings in Gertrude. He is--if the word maybe applied to such a bookish
+man--inexpressibly jolly. Mrs. Grandon hardly knows how to take him,
+and is on her guard against some plot in the air. Violet laughs and
+parries his gay badinage, feeling as if she were in an enchanted realm.
+Floyd has a spice of amazement in his countenance.
+
+"Now," the professor says, as they rise, "I shall take Mr. Grandon off
+for a smoke, since we do not sit over wine."
+
+"And I shall appropriate Mrs. Grandon," declares Gertrude, with unusual
+_verve_.
+
+When they reach the drawing-room she says, "Send Cecil to Jane, will
+you not?"
+
+But Cecil has no mind to be dismissed from the conclave. Violet coaxes,
+entreats, promises, and finally persuades her to go, very reluctantly
+indeed, with Jane for just half an hour, when she may come down again.
+
+Gertrude passes her arm over Violet's shoulder, and draws her down
+to the soft, silk cushioned _tete-a-tete_. Her shawl lies over the
+arm,--she did not wear it in to dinner.
+
+"You wouldn't imagine," she begins, suddenly, "that any one would care
+to marry me. I never supposed----"
+
+"It is the professor!" cries Violet, softly. "He loves you. Oh, how
+delightful!"
+
+"Why, did he tell you?"
+
+"I never thought until this instant. That is why you are both so new
+and strange, and why your cheeks are a little pink! O Gertrude, _do_
+you love him?"
+
+Her face is a study in its ardent expectation, its delicious joy. What
+does this girl know of love?
+
+"Why--I--of course I like him, Violet. I could not marry a man I did
+_not_ like, or a man who was not kindly or congenial." Then she
+remembers how very slight an opportunity Violet had to decide whether
+Floyd would be congenial or not, and is rather embarrassed. "We are not
+foolish young lovers," she explains, "but I do suppose we shall be
+happy. He is so kind, so warmhearted; he makes one feel warmed and
+rested. It did so surprise me, for I had not the faintest idea. I used
+to stay with you because----"
+
+"Well, because what?" Violet is deeply interested in the least reason
+for all this strange denouement.
+
+"Because I never wanted any one to say that you, that he," Gertrude
+begins to flounder helplessly, "were too much alone."
+
+"Who would have said that?" Violet's face is a clear flame, and her
+dimpled mouth shuts over something akin to indignation.
+
+"Oh, don't, my dear Violet! No one could have said it, because he was
+Floyd's friend, but you see you were so young, such a child, and I was
+a sort of grandmother, and you had been in so little society----"
+
+Gertrude breaks down in a nervous tremble, then she laughs
+hysterically.
+
+"I didn't want you to think _I_ was running after _him_," she cries,
+deprecatingly. "I only came for company, and all that, and he has taken
+a fancy to have me, to marry me, though what he wants me for I can't
+see. I did not suppose I ever should marry. I didn't really care, until
+Laura began to flaunt her husband in every one's face, and now I shall
+be so glad to surprise her. What a stir it will make; Marcia will turn
+fairly green with envy."
+
+Violet begins to be confused. Can any one allow all these emotions with
+love?
+
+"And you are not a bit glad," says Gertrude, touched at her silence.
+
+"Oh, I am more than glad!" and Violet clasps her arms about Gertrude's
+neck and kisses her tenderly. Gertrude draws her down on her lap and
+holds her like a baby.
+
+"Oh, you sweet little precious!" she exclaims. "I don't know how any
+one could help loving you! The professor thinks you are an angel. But
+you know _I_ should look silly going into transports over a middle-aged
+man, getting bald on the forehead. I am too tall, too old; but he
+insists that I will grow younger every year. And I shall try to get
+back a little of my old beauty. I have not cared, you know, there was
+nothing to care for, but when you have some one to notice whether your
+cheeks are pale or pink, and who will want you to be prettily
+attired--oh, I _am_ growing idiotic, after all!"
+
+"So that you are happy, very happy----"
+
+"My dear, I substitute comfort for happiness; one is much more likely
+to at thirty. But you will not believe me when you hear all. He wants
+to be married early in January, and take me with him to the Pacific
+coast and to Mexico. I told him I would have to be carried in a
+palanquin or on a stretcher, but it would be lovely for a wedding
+tour!"
+
+"Oh, yes! And you will get stronger and care more for everything; and
+he will be so pleased to see you take an interest in his pursuits. You
+must read German and French with him, and make diagrams and columns and
+jugs and all manner of queer things. You will love to _live_ once more,
+Gertrude, I know you will."
+
+Gertrude sighs happily, yet a little overwhelmed.
+
+"Mamma! mamma!" calls a sweet, rather upbraiding voice, "it is just
+half an hour."
+
+"Let her come down; we can go on with our talk now," says Gertrude; and
+the delighted child flies to her mother's arms.
+
+The gentlemen return presently. Floyd Grandon takes his little girl on
+his knee, while Violet puts both hands in the professor's and gives him
+perhaps the sweetest congratulation he will have. Then he wishes to
+explain matters to Mrs. Grandon and have a betrothal. This all occurs
+while Violet is putting Cecil to bed. Jane waits upon her young
+mistress, but the good-night kiss and the tucking up in the soft
+blanket must be Violet's, and to-night the story is reluctantly
+deferred.
+
+She finds Mrs. Grandon in the drawing-room when she enters it,
+dignified and composed, showing in her face none of the elation she
+feels. For she is amazed and triumphant that this famous gentleman,
+whose name is the golden key to the most exclusive portals of society,
+should choose her faded, querulous Gertrude. How much of it is due to
+Violet she will never know, nor the professor either; but it is Violet
+who has raised Gertrude up to a new estate out of her old slough of
+despond, who in her own abundant sweetness and generosity has so
+clothed the other that she has seemed charming even in the sadness of
+an apathetical life. Everything is amicably settled. Gertrude does not
+care for the betrothal party, but to Mrs. Grandon it has a stylish and
+unusual aspect, and the world can then begin to talk of the engagement.
+
+Violet is strangely perturbed that night. Visions of ill-fated Romeo
+and Juliet haunt her thoughts. Then she wonders if Gertrude has quite
+forgotten that old love. Perhaps it would be foolish to let it stand up
+in ghostly remembrance when something fond and strong and comforting
+was offered. But which of all these _is_ love? She is yet to learn its
+Proteus shapes and disguises.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+Nothing is courtesy unless it be meant friendly and lovingly.--BEN
+JONSON.
+
+
+The world is amazed that Prof. Freilgrath, the _savant_ and explorer,
+is to take unto himself an American wife. The betrothal party at
+Grandon Park excites much interest, and the few invited guests feel
+highly honored. The press has received him and his book with the utmost
+cordiality; the young women who read everything are wild over it and
+talk glibly, though it is mostly Greek to them, but then he is the new
+star and must be admired. Many of them envy Miss Grandon, and well they
+may.
+
+Gertrude is dressed in soft gray silk, with an abundance of illusion at
+throat and wrists; a knot of delicate pink satin is the only bit of
+color, and it lends a sort of tender grace to the thin face, where a
+transient flush comes and goes. Her betrothal ring is of exquisite
+pearls. There are congratulations, there is a supper that is
+perfection. Gertrude is serene, but softened in some strange way, and
+yet curiously dignified.
+
+Madame Lepelletier is surprised. She considers any marriage a
+short-sighted step for such a man, and she can only think of Gertrude
+as a fretful, despondent woman, who will end by being a dead weight
+upon her husband. Whatever gave him the fancy? for Gertrude was too
+indolent to set about winning any man.
+
+This is Mrs. Floyd Grandon's first appearance in society, and the
+guests eye her with a something too well-bred for curiosity. She looks
+very petite in her trailing dress of dead silk that imitates crape, but
+is much softer. So quiet, so like a wraith, and yet with a fascinating
+loveliness in her eyes, in her tender, blossom-like face, in her fresh
+young voice. She makes no blunders, she is not awkward, she is not
+loud. Cecil is her foil,--Cecil, in lace over infantile blue, with a
+knot of streamers on one shoulder in narrow blue satin ribbon and a
+blue sash. Floyd is host, of course, so Cecil would be left exclusively
+with her pretty mamma, if it was not her own choice. Madame watches
+them. How did this girl charm that exclusive and almost obstinate
+child? She is indulgent, yet once or twice she checks Cecil, and the
+little girl obeys; it is not altogether indulgence.
+
+Violet is extremely interested. There are few very young people;
+several of the gentlemen converse with her, and though she is rather
+fearful at first, she soon feels at home and likes them better, she
+imagines, than the women, with one exception, and that is Mrs. Latimer.
+The two have a long talk about Quebec, its queer streets and quaint old
+churches, and Mr. Latimer takes her in to dinner, which seems a
+dreadful ordeal to her, but he is very kindly and entertaining.
+
+Madame Lepelletier resolves to be first in the field. She asks Mr.
+Grandon to appoint a day convenient to himself for bringing Mrs.
+Grandon to lunch. She will have Gertrude and the professor, Laura and
+her husband, and a few friends. Floyd consults Violet, who glances up
+with shy delight: madame sees it with a secret joy. She will charm this
+young creature, even if her arts have failed with the husband. She will
+manage to obtain a hold and do with it whatever seems best; but now she
+begins to have a sullen under-current of hate for the young wife.
+
+Marcia's feelings are not those of intense satisfaction. Why did not
+she stay at home and win the professor, for it seems any man whom
+Gertrude could please would be easily won? Then she is _not_ ambitious
+to be Miss Grandon, the only unmarried daughter of the house. Miss
+Marcia sounds so much more youthful. She could almost drag off
+Gertrude's betrothal ring in her envy.
+
+Now there is the excitement of another wedding. Gertrude will have no
+great fuss of shopping.
+
+"You all talk as if I never had any clothes," she says one day to
+Laura. "I shall have one new dark silk, and I shall be married in a
+cloth travelling-dress, and that is all. I will not be worried out of
+my life with dressmakers."
+
+And she is not. For people past youth, she and the professor manage to
+do a great deal of what looks suspiciously like courting over the
+register in the drawing-room. They agree excellently upon one point,
+heat. They can both be baked and roasted. He wraps her in shawls and
+she is happy, content. She reads German rather lamely, and he corrects,
+encourages.
+
+"Fraulein," he says, one day, "there is a point, I have smoked always.
+Will it annoy thee?"
+
+"No," replies Gertrude, "unless you should smoke bad tobacco."
+
+He throws back his head and laughs at that, showing all his white, even
+teeth.
+
+"And when I have to go out I may be absent for days at times, where it
+would be inconvenient to take thee?"
+
+"Oh, you know I should be satisfied with whatever you thought best! I
+am not a silly young girl to fancy myself neglected. Why, I expect you
+to go on with your work and your research and everything."
+
+"Thou art a jewel," he declares, "a sensible woman. I am afraid I
+should not be patient with a fool, and jealousy belongs to very young
+people."
+
+It is the day before Madame Lepelletier's lunch, and has rained
+steadily, though now shows signs of breaking away. Violet is in
+Gertrude's room helping her look over some clothes. Marcia and her
+mother have quarrelled, and she sits here saying uncomfortable things
+to Gertrude, that might be painful if Gertrude were not used to it.
+
+"Gertrude," Violet begins, in her gentle tone that ought to be oil upon
+the waters, "what must I wear to-morrow, my pretty train silk?"
+
+Marcia giggles insolently.
+
+"No, dear," answers Gertrude, with a kindliness in her voice. "You must
+wear a short walking-dress. You are going to take a journey, and trains
+are relegated to carriages. You can indulge in white at the neck and
+wrists. In fact, there is no need of your wearing black tulle any more.
+And Briggs will get you a bunch of chrysanthemums for your belt."
+
+"You can't expect to rival Madame Lepelletier," says Marcia, in the
+tone of one giving valuable advice.
+
+"No, I could never do that," is the quiet response.
+
+"Except on the _one_ great occasion," and there is a half-laugh,
+half-sneer.
+
+"When was that?" asks Violet.
+
+"Marcia!" says Gertrude, half rising.
+
+"Why shouldn't she be proud of her victory? Any woman would. All women
+are delighted to catch husbands! I dare say Madame Lepelletier would
+have enjoyed being Mrs. Floyd Grandon."
+
+"Marcia, do not make such an idiot of yourself!"
+
+A sudden horrible fear rushes over Violet. "You do not mean," she says,
+"that Mr. Grandon----" What is it she shall ask? Was there some broken
+engagement? They came from Europe together.
+
+"She does not mean anything----" begins Gertrude; but Marcia
+interrupts, snappishly,--
+
+"I _do_ mean something, too, if you please, _Miss_ Grandon," with a
+bitter emphasis on the Miss. "And I think turn about fair play. She
+jilted Floyd and he jilted her, it amounts to just that, and for once
+Violet came off best, though I doubt----"
+
+Violet is very white now, and her eyes look like points of clear flame,
+not anger. Something has fallen on her with crushing weight, but she
+still lives.
+
+Gertrude rises with dignity. "Marcia," she says, in a tone of command,
+"this is my room, and you will oblige me by leaving it."
+
+"Oh, how fine we are, Mrs. Professor!" and Marcia gives an exasperating
+laugh; but as Gertrude approaches she suddenly slips away and slams the
+door behind her.
+
+"My dear child," and Gertrude takes the small figure in her arms,
+kissing the cold lips, "do not mind what she has said. Let me tell you
+the story. When they were just grown up and really did not know their
+own minds, Floyd and Irene Stanwood became engaged. She went to Paris
+with her mother and married a French count, and a few years after, when
+we were there, Floyd met her without the least bit of sentiment. He
+never was anything of a despairing lover. She was very lovely then, but
+not nearly so handsome as now. When we heard they were coming home
+together from Europe, last summer, we supposed they had made up the old
+affair. She had no friends or relatives, and we are third or fourth
+cousins, so he brought her here. This was more than a month before he
+even saw you, and in that time if he _had_ loved her he would have
+asked her to marry him; don't you see?"
+
+She gives a long, quivering breath, but her lips are dry. It is not
+simply a thought of marriage.
+
+"And I am sure if she had been very much in love with him, she would
+have managed to entangle him. Fascinating women of the world can do
+that in so many ways. They are simply good friends. Why," she declares,
+smilingly, "suppose I was to make myself miserable because you
+translated for the professor, you would think me no end of a dunce! It
+is just the same. Marcia has a love for making mischief, but you must
+not allow her ever to sow any distrust between you and Floyd. The woman
+a man chooses is his _true_ love," says Gertrude, waxing enthusiastic,
+"not the one he may have fancied or dreamed over long before. Now, you
+will not worry about this? Get the roses back to your cheeks, for there
+come Floyd and Eugene, and we must dress for dinner."
+
+Gertrude kisses her fondly. She never imagined she could love any woman
+as well. Violet goes to arrange her hair, and while she is at it Floyd
+comes up with a cheery word. But she feels in a maze. Why should she
+care? Does she _care_? Floyd Grandon chose her when he might have had
+this fascinating society woman. How much was there in the old love?
+
+He is rather preoccupied with business, and does not remark a little
+tremor in her voice. She rubs her cheeks with the soft Turkish towel
+until they feel warm, and goes down with him and chattering Cecil.
+Marcia is snappy. She and Eugene dispute about some trifle, and Floyd
+speaks to her in a very peremptory manner that startles Violet. He does
+so hate this little bickering!
+
+Floyd is extremely interested in his wife's appearance the next
+morning, and regrets that she cannot wear the train; he selects her
+flowers, and looks that she is wrapped good and warm. How very kind he
+is! Will she dare believe this is love?
+
+"Do you not look a little pale?" he asks, solicitously.
+
+She is bright enough then and smiles bewitchingly.
+
+When they go up in the dressing-room at madame's, Violet finds Mrs.
+Latimer, and she is glad to her heart's depth.
+
+"Oh, you dainty little child!" the lady cries. "You look French with
+your chrysanthemums. What elegant ones they are! I want you to come and
+spend a whole day with me; we are sort of relatives you know," with a
+bright smile, "and you will not mind coming to me; then at eight we
+will give Gertrude and the professor a dinner. Has she not improved by
+being in love? She used to be quite a beauty, I believe, but the
+Grandons are all fine looking. I do admire Mr. Floyd Grandon so much."
+
+Violet's face is in a soft glow of hazy pink, and her eyes are
+luminous.
+
+"Oh," Mrs. Latimer says, just under her breath, "you are one of the
+old-fashioned girls, who is not ashamed of being in love with her
+husband. Well, I don't wonder. And you must have had some rare charm to
+win him against such great odds. If you knew the world well, you would
+have to admit that women like madame only blossom now and then, and
+are--shall we call them the century plants of the fashionable
+world?"--and she smiles--"not that they have to be a hundred years old
+to bloom; indeed, they seem never to grow old. I like to watch her, she
+is so elegant and fascinating."
+
+She comes up just then and crosses over to Violet, having stopped for a
+little chat with Mr. Grandon in the hall. Violet is unexceptionable,
+though it seems inharmonious to see such a bright young creature in
+mourning; but the fashionable and the literary world will open its
+doors to Mrs. Grandon, and madame has the wisdom to be first. She is
+not much given to caressing ways, but she kisses Violet, and is struck
+by a peculiar circumstance,--Violet does not kiss her back. She liked
+this beautiful woman so very much before, and now she feels as if she
+never wanted to see her. She is absolutely sorry that she has come, for
+after one has partaken of hospitality the fine line is passed.
+
+Mrs. Latimer is very curiously interested in this young wife. She has
+listened to Laura's strictures and bewailing, for Laura has gone down
+to madame body and soul, but when the professor said, "Mrs. Grandon is
+such an excellent German scholar, Mrs. Grandon is the most charming
+little wife," and when she met her at the betrothal she resolved to
+know her better, and finds her a fresh, sweet, innocent girl. Probably
+she did appeal strongly to Floyd Grandon's chivalrous instincts when
+she saved his child's life, but she is worth loving for herself alone.
+
+Mr. Latimer takes Violet in, and she is very glad not to fall to the
+lot of some stranger. Madame and Mr. Grandon are at opposite ends of
+the table. It is a perfect lunch, with good breeding and serving, that
+is really a fine art. Violet _does_ enjoy it. Mr. Latimer knows just
+how to entertain her, and he entertains her for his own pleasure as
+well. He likes to see her wondering eyes open in their sweet, fearless
+purity; he watches the loveliest of color as it ripples over her face,
+the dimples that seem to play hide-and-seek, and the rare glint of her
+waving hair as it catches the light in its dun gold reflexes.
+
+"I know two people who would rave over you," he says, in a very low
+tone, just for her ear, "Mr. and Mrs. Dick Ascott. This was their
+house, you know, and they could not have paid Madame Lepelletier a
+higher compliment than renting to her,--it is the apple of their eye,
+the chosen of their heart! They are both artists and _we_ think
+charming people, but Dick was resolved his wife should have some
+Parisian art culture. They are to be back in two years, and I hope you
+will not change in the slightest particular. I command you to remain
+just as you are."
+
+"Two years," she repeats, with a dreamy smile that is entrancing, and
+presently glances up with such a sweet, shy look, that John Latimer,
+not often moved by women's smiles, rather suspecting wiles, feels
+tempted to kiss her on the spot.
+
+"I hope," she says afterwards, with the most delicious seriousness,
+"that I shall not disappoint any one two years from this time."
+
+"Don't you dare to," he replies, warningly.
+
+Gertrude and the professor are really the stars of this morning's
+luncheon, and they are having such an engrossing conversation on the
+other side of the table that no one but Marcia remarks this little
+episode. Everything to her savors of flirtation. Marcia Grandon could
+not entertain a simple, honest regard for any one; she is always
+studying effects, and she is hungry for admiration. All the small
+artifices she uses she suspects in every one else, and now in her
+secret heart she accuses Mrs. Floyd of flying at high game.
+
+Take it altogether, it is a decidedly charming little party. Mrs.
+Vandervoort, though not a handsome woman, is at the very height of
+fashion, and is particularly well-bred, as the Delancys are not modern
+people, but have the blue blood of some centuries without much
+admixture; there are a few others: madame makes her parties so select
+that it is a favor to be invited to one.
+
+She seeks out Violet just as they are beginning to disperse.
+
+"My dear Mrs. Grandon," she says, in that persuasive voice that wins
+even against the will, "I have been planning a pleasure for you with
+Mr. Grandon. You are to come down here for a day and a night next week,
+and we are to go to the opera; it is to be 'Lohengrin,' and you will be
+delighted. You are quite a German student, I hear. Now I am going to
+make arrangements with the professor and Gertrude."
+
+She smiles superbly and floats over to Gertrude. Violet turns a little
+cold; to come here for a day, to remain all night--
+
+"Do you know," says Mrs. Latimer, when she is seated in her sister's
+carriage,--Mr. Latimer is to walk down town,--"I think that little Mrs.
+Grandon charming. She is coming to me on Tuesday, and we are to give a
+kind of family dinner to Gertrude. Laura's vexation made her rather
+unjust, and Mrs. Grandon's hair is magnificent, not really red, at all,
+and her manners are simply quaint and delicate. She doesn't need any
+training; it would be rubbing the bloom off the peach. I just wish
+Winnie Ascott could see her!"
+
+"You and John and the Ascotts have rather a weakness for bread-and-milk
+flavoring. She _is_ very nice, certainly, and quite presentable, but
+one can never predict how these innocent _ingenues_ will develop. They
+are very delightful at eighteen, but at eight-and-twenty one sometimes
+wants to strangle them, as you do Marcia Grandon."
+
+"Marcia is certainly not the black sheep of the family, for she hasn't
+the vim and color for absolute wickedness, but a sort of burr that
+pricks and _sticks_ where you least desire it. Now, Laura will make an
+extremely stylish woman of fashion, and tall, fair Gertrude, with her
+languors and invalidisms, will be picturesque, but an old maid like
+Marcia Grandon would be simply intolerable! Let us join hands and get
+her married."
+
+"And I dare say Marcia was one of the sweet innocents," Mrs.
+Vandervoort remarks, dryly.
+
+"Never, Helen, never! Why, there is a little tint of scandal that she
+was having a desperate escapade with a married man when her mother took
+her abroad. No, the two are as far apart as the poles. It is really
+unjust for you to suppose a resemblance."
+
+"I did not _quite_ infer a resemblance, but I doubt if Mrs. Floyd
+_can_ keep pace with her husband, and there are so many silly moths
+to flutter about such a man. Mrs. Grandon may turn jealous and sulky,
+or become indifferent and leave him to other people's entertainment and
+fascinations, and that Madame Lepelletier would never do. They would
+make such a splendid couple! Like Laura, I regret the wrecked
+opportunity. They seem made for each other. He no doubt married Miss
+St. Vincent in the flush of some chivalrous feeling, but she will
+always be too childish to understand such a man. There will remain just
+so many years between them."
+
+"And _I_ think she will grow up to a perfect wifehood. She is not yet
+eighteen."
+
+"And I cannot understand how a man having a chance to win Madame
+Lepelletier would not urge it to the uttermost."
+
+Mrs. Latimer is set down at her own door, but keeps her confident faith
+as she talks matters over with John.
+
+"Floyd Grandon is about the one level-headed man out of a thousand," he
+says, decisively. "Whether it is that he cannot be fascinated with
+womenkind or holds some resentment concerning the past, I am not sure,
+but he is able to sun himself in the dazzle of Madame Lepelletier's
+charms with the most perfect friendly indifference that I ever saw. If
+he were not, she might prove dangerous to the peace of mind of the
+young wife, who is simply delightful, but who doesn't know any more
+about love than the sweetest rosebud in the garden."
+
+"O John! now your penetration is at fault," laughs the wife; "she
+unconsciously adores her husband."
+
+"Well, I said she didn't _know_ about it, and she does not. The
+awakening will have to come."
+
+Violet meanwhile begins to anticipate the day at Mrs. Latimer's as much
+as she dreads that at madame's. Cecil is surprised, indignant.
+
+"You don't stay with me now," she says, her voice and her small body
+swelling with emotion. "You let Jane put me to bed, and you don't tell
+me any stories."
+
+"But after Aunt Gertrude is married we shall stay at home, and there
+will be stories and stories. And you _might_ like to go to Denise," she
+suggests, with admirable art. "Briggs could drive you in the pony
+carriage."
+
+The temptation is too great. She has winked rather hard to make tears
+come, and now she ungratefully winks them away again and dances for
+joy.
+
+It is almost noon when they reach the Latimers'. Their house is about
+as large as madame's, but it has a greater air of carelessness, of
+disorder in its most charming estate. John Latimer lives all over it,
+and there are books and papers everywhere, and _bric-a-brac_ in all the
+corners. The redwood mantel in the sitting-room is shelved nearly up to
+the ceiling, and tiled around the grate, and is just one picture of
+beauty. The easy-chairs are around the fire, and softest rugs are laid
+for your feet. Violet sits down in the glow and feels at home, smiles,
+blossoms, and surprises herself at her gift of adaptiveness.
+
+The lunch is simple and informal; the men retire to Mr. Latimer's den
+to smoke and take counsel. Floyd discusses his literary plans and
+receives much encouragement. There are three small children in the
+nursery, and thither the ladies find their way. Violet charms them all;
+even the baby stretches out his hands to come to her. They talk of
+Cecil, and Mrs. Latimer, by some magic known to herself, draws out of
+Violet a deliciously naive confession of that romantic episode when she
+first saw Mr. Grandon.
+
+"Cecil is so rarely beautiful," she says, with the most perfect
+admiration. "She might not have been killed,--I really do not think she
+would have been,--but I can understand how terribly Mr. Grandon would
+hate to have her marred or disfigured in any way. She has the most
+perfect complexion, and no sun or wind seems to injure it. And you
+cannot think what an apt pupil she is in music; she plays some
+exercises very cunningly already, and she is learning French
+sentences."
+
+Violet's face is a study of delight, of unselfish affection. Mrs.
+Latimer bends over and kisses her, and Violet clasps her arms about the
+other's neck.
+
+"You play," she says, presently. "Do you sing any? Come down and try my
+piano; it is a new upright, and very fine tone."
+
+"I do not sing many of the pretty new songs," says Violet, modestly,
+"nor Italian. My music and my German teacher was the same person and a
+German. He liked the old Latin hymns."
+
+She plays without any special entreaty, and plays more than simply
+well, with taste, feeling, and correctness. You can see that she loves
+the really fine and impassioned in music, that show and dash have had
+no place in her training. She sings very sweetly with a mezzo-soprano
+voice that is clear and tender.
+
+"You need never be afraid to play or sing," is Mrs. Latimer's quiet
+verdict; and though Violet does not specially regard the commendation
+now, it is afterward of great comfort.
+
+"You are going to the opera on Thursday night," she begins, suddenly,
+for it has just entered her mind. "What have you ever heard?"
+
+"Nothing," answers Violet, simply. "Mr. Grandon took me to see 'Romeo
+and Juliet.'" And she gives a little sigh to the sweet, sad memory.
+
+"And the opera is 'Lohengrin'! I think we must go, I should so like to
+see _you_. I will ask Mr. Latimer to get tickets, and we must be
+together."
+
+"Oh, if you only will!" Violet is in eager delight now.
+
+"To be sure I will. Mr. Latimer will settle it before you go. Let us
+make a call upon them; they must have smoked themselves blue by this
+time."
+
+They have smoked the sanctum very blue, and are full of apologies. Mr.
+Latimer dumps the contents of two chairs on the floor, and the opera
+matter is soon settled. Violet is extremely happy over it.
+
+"Do you realize how late it is?" exclaims Mrs. Latimer, presently.
+"Gertrude is coming in for a little visit before the play begins."
+
+She arrives just then, and the professor joins the masculine circle
+with great zest. The three women have a cosey time until Mrs. Latimer
+has to leave them to give some small attention to her dinner, which
+proves very enjoyable. There can be no compliments to Gertrude
+afterward, and the time is drawing near.
+
+"John," Mrs. Latimer says afterward, "I have solved the problem. I know
+just where the secret charm of Miss St. Vincent came to light, and won
+against all the beauty and advantages of her rival."
+
+"Well?" he gives a lazy, inquiring laugh, "I dare say you have made
+five chapters of discoveries."
+
+"It was the child. Why, Mrs. Grandon had the whole nursery in her arms
+in five minutes, and she never made a bit of fuss! Even baby went to
+her. That little Miss Cecil adores her. But you couldn't imagine Madame
+Lepelletier really fond of children. She speaks to them in a lovely
+manner, but I think they must miss the true heart in it. He chose
+wisely, since he had to give his child a mother."
+
+"He is a capital good fellow," says John Latimer, "Few men would
+undertake the family bother he has."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+"Thou on one side, I on the other."
+
+
+All her life Violet Grandon will remember "Lohengrin," the perfect
+evening to the rather imperfect day. In good truth the day disappoints
+madame as well. Gertrude comes down with Violet, and there is a little
+shopping to finish. Laura and Gertrude cannot agree in one or two
+points concerning the wedding. Floyd and the professor are to lunch at
+Delmonico's with some literary men.
+
+Of course madame is serene and charming, but Violet and she keep
+distinctly apart. There is no tender confidence, as with Mrs. Latimer.
+When the girls, Laura and Gertrude, are fairly out of the way, Violet
+sits shyly looking at some engravings, and answers gently, but makes no
+comments of her own. She does feel strange with this beautiful woman.
+She wonders how much Floyd loved her at first, in those long years ago
+when she was a girl, only she seems never to have been a girl, just as
+you never can think of her being old.
+
+Madame yawns presently, feels the lack of her _siesta_, and decides
+that to be brilliant to-night she must have it. Excusing herself for a
+few moments, she goes away, rather vexed that Violet should be so
+inappreciative. After all, has the child anything much in her? Is it
+worth while to expend any great interest upon her?
+
+The dinner passes agreeably, and the carriage comes for them. The
+professor has been discoursing upon Wagner and his musical theories,
+but he will not have anything said about this particular opera. So
+Violet takes her seat, with her husband on one side and the professor
+on the other, and prepares herself to listen to that hidden mental
+element that touches the inmost processes of the soul.
+
+_Elsa_, in her blissful surprise, the mysterious enchantment convincing
+her of reality, loving, adoring, trusting to the uttermost, and content
+to live, to take love without asking herself from whence her lover
+comes; to hold her happiness on so strong a tenure now because she
+_does_ trust. Wide-eyed, exultant, Violet listens. Cannot her husband
+read _her_ story in her eyes? The beautiful march enchants her. Again
+she says to herself, Is this love? Though the way is straight and few
+find it, some blest souls enter in.
+
+And then the question forces itself upon Elsa's soul, it becomes its
+deepest need, and in that evil hour she sets it above love. There is
+the thrilling vision and _Lohengrin's_ rebuke, and Violet listens and
+looks like one entranced. _Elsa_ asks her fateful question, and the
+enchantment is gone. Ah, can any tears, any prayers bring him back? Can
+all the divine passion and repentance of one's life prevail?
+
+The lovely color goes out of Violet's face; it seems for a moment as if
+she would faint. How can all these women keep from crying out in their
+anguish?
+
+"_Mignonne_," the professor says, softly, and takes her hand, "come out
+of thy too passionate dream. That is the musician's soul, but it is not
+daily food."
+
+Her eyes are blind with tears, and she is glad to rise with the crowd
+and go.
+
+Gertrude Grandon's brief engagement is shortened by nearly a fortnight
+on account of a literary meeting at Chicago that the professor must
+attend. So Christmas day at two o'clock they go to church, Gertrude in
+dark blue cloth, that is extremely becoming, and fits her tall, slender
+figure to perfection; just under the brim of her bonnet are two
+pale-pink crush roses, the only tint of color. No one could imagine so
+much improvement possible. Floyd gives her away also. He has endeared
+her by many kindnesses, but the last is placing her present and
+possible fortune in her hands.
+
+"But if you should never be able to get it all out of the business?"
+she asks, and her eyes moisten.
+
+"Then," he answers, "the rest is my wedding gift to you. I should like
+to make it much larger."
+
+"O Floyd, what a good brother you have been! And we have never thought
+of anything but just our own selves," she adds, remorsefully.
+
+"Yes," he rejoins, "_you_ have thought of Violet."
+
+Then they all go down to the city to see Gertrude start on her new
+journey. Floyd and the professor wring each other's hands,--they have
+been like brothers so long! Surely, even if he had thought of it, he
+could have wished Gertrude no better fate. He is curiously moved by the
+professor's very earnest regard, though he knows it must half be pity,
+tenderness. His face is bright and cheerful, and his voice rings out
+heartily. He will bring back Frau Freilgrath so stout and rosy that no
+one will recognize her.
+
+They are all very tired when they reach home. Mrs. Grandon is the
+happiest. She is the mother of two well-married daughters. They will be
+no further expense or care, and perhaps some one may pick up Marcia.
+She is no better reconciled to her son's marriage; in truth, as it
+sometimes happens where no real fault can be discovered, an obstinate
+person will fall back upon a prejudice. For a governess Violet would
+answer admirably, but she has no qualification for the position into
+which she has thrust herself.
+
+January comes in bitterly cold, and the great house is very lonely.
+Marcia is flitting about, Mrs. Grandon makes another visit to New York,
+Eugene is moody and distraught, for he is very much smitten with
+madame, who, to do her justice, does not encourage the passion, though
+in a certain way she enjoys the young man's adoration. Then, too, he is
+extremely miserable about money. He hates to curtail any indulgence, he
+is fond of theatres, operas, _petit soupers_, fresh gloves, and fast
+horses, and he is put upon an allowance, which makes him hate Floyd and
+grumble to Wilmarth.
+
+Floyd is deep in a literary venture, or rather it is no venture at all,
+a series of travels and descriptions of out-of-the-way corners of Asia,
+with new and marvellous discoveries. He is so excited and interested
+that he almost forgets other matters, and the time being short, every
+day is precious. Violet understands this, and amuses herself and Cecil,
+drives out to the cottage and spends days with Denise, and is a happy,
+bright little creature. Mrs. Latimer comes up for two or three days,
+which is utterly delightful.
+
+Madame meanwhile has her hands full. She is sought after, and
+invitations accumulate on her table. Her callers are the _creme_ of the
+city. Brokers who are up early, drop in to her elegant little teas and
+bring her bouquets when roses are at their highest. Professional men
+find a wonderful charm in her conversation. There are generally one or
+two bright women beside, and the room takes on the appearance of a
+select party. She gives a superb little dinner, to which Floyd goes,
+but Violet does not, though warmly invited. Often after working all day
+he takes the evening train down to the city, and long before he is back
+Violet is asleep. They are quietly happy. He _is_ fond, though a good
+deal preoccupied.
+
+Yet the time does not hang heavily. There have been several more plays
+and some fine concerts, but when they have taken the late train the
+pleasure has been somewhat fatiguing. Letters come from Gertrude, who
+admits that she grows foolishly happy. The professor makes such a
+delightful husband. She cannot go about a great deal, but he describes
+places and people to her, and she enjoys it quite as much. Gertrude
+certainly is not _exigeant_, and she has a touch of tender gratitude
+that makes the professor feel continually that he has done a good deed
+by marrying her, which is a flattering unction to the man's generous
+soul.
+
+March comes in, and the pressing work being done, Floyd turns to the
+business. It is a success, but he is not any more in love with it. They
+have demonstrated now that the new looms carry a secret that must
+revolutionize trade. He holds long interviews with Mr. Connery and
+Ralph Sherburne. He has the privilege, being joint executor with Mr.
+Sherburne, of selling out all St. Vincent's right and title, and he has
+already been offered a fortune for it. He will deal justly and fairly
+by the dead man's genius, and Violet will be an heiress, which in one
+way gratifies, and in another way pains. He likes his mother and the
+world to know that Violet has a rank of her own, since money confers
+that, and in the future nothing she chooses will be considered
+extravagant in her. But he hates to be suspected of any mercenary
+considerations. He always had enough for both.
+
+He lays the matter before Mr. Wilmarth, being quite convinced now that
+Eugene will never make a business man. He will not hurry matters, but
+when the legacies have been paid he shall close his connection with the
+factory.
+
+"But Mrs. Grandon still has a life interest," suggests Jasper Wilmarth.
+
+"That can be hypothecated, or the will gives her the privilege of
+taking any certain sum that can be agreed upon. It would not impoverish
+me to pay it myself," he says, with a fine contempt.
+
+"But your brother must agree to all this; it is _his_ business, not
+yours."
+
+"He will agree to it," answers Floyd, in a tone not to be mistaken,
+since it implies the young man would dispose of his birthright any day
+for a mess of pottage.
+
+"Still, I should suppose there would be a feeling of honor," says
+Wilmarth, with his suave sneer.
+
+"I think my honor has never been questioned, Mr. Wilmarth, nor my
+integrity."
+
+Floyd Grandon rises and stands straight before him, his face slightly
+flushed.
+
+"You quite mistake me," he replies, with a covert but insolent evasion;
+"or I had better have said pride, business pride, I have so much of
+that," and the lips show a sort of sardonic smile. "That is what your
+brother lacks; I suppose we have no reasonable right to look for it in
+you, a literary man."
+
+Jasper Wilmarth always exasperates him, but he says now, with dignified
+gravity,--
+
+"I give you this notice, so that you may prepare for the event. There
+will be no undue haste, but I should like to have the business settled
+in from one to two years hence."
+
+So that is his warning! If he _could_ have married St. Vincent's
+daughter! Jasper Wilmarth does not care such a great deal for riches,
+but he would like to put down this aristocratic fellow whom the world
+is beginning to worship, who has only to hold out his hand and the St.
+Vincent fortune will drop into it. When the time of settlement actually
+comes the partnership will be dissolved; he must either sell or buy;
+buy he cannot. Floyd Grandon pushes him out. Is there no way to give
+the man a sword-keen thrust?
+
+He broods over it for days, and at last it comes to him like an
+inspiration. Marcia has been making calls in Westbrook and stops for
+Floyd according to agreement. She sits there in the pony carriage in
+seal sacque and cap, her light hair flying about, her cheeks red with
+the wind, her face in a kind of satisfied smirk. You can never quite
+tell where this starts from; it is in the little crease in the brows,
+in the nose slightly drawn, in the lines about the mouth, and the
+rather sharp chin. Nature has not been as bountiful to Marcia in the
+matter of charms as to the others; she has stinted here and there, and
+it shows clearly as she grows older. But as she gives her head an airy
+toss and shakes the Skye fluff out of her eyes, he smiles. It would be
+an immense joke to marry Marcia Grandon; an immense mortification as
+well! To be Floyd Grandon's brother-in-law, to have the _entree_ of the
+great house, to come very near Violet Grandon and perhaps drop a bitter
+flavor in her cup!
+
+Marcia Grandon is not sharp enough to outwit him anywhere and he would
+always be master; that is another point scored. Then he might make some
+moves through her that would otherwise be impossible.
+
+Floyd comes out and springs in the carriage, indulgently allowing her
+to drive. Violet has had a cold and been in-doors for several days, but
+looks bright and well when she greets him. She is such a dear, happy
+little thing!
+
+Not many days after this Wilmarth meets Marcia bowling along in the
+spring sunshine. He raises his hat, pauses, and with her coquettish
+instinct she stops.
+
+"Good day, Miss Grandon," he says, with a low bow. "I thought of coming
+down to call on you. Have you given up all your old habits of
+designing? We have some large orders and I am quite in trouble about
+patterns,--I suppose your brother told you?"
+
+"Oh, he never tells _me_ anything!" with an assumed air of disdain.
+"And he would be sure to consult Mrs. Grandon, who draws a little, like
+every school girl!"
+
+"I dare say he never gave it a second thought," returns Wilmarth, in a
+reflective manner. "Well, _have_ you given it up?"
+
+"I have been painting in oils for the last year or two," and nose and
+chin indulge in an extra tilt. "I dare say I _could_ design, though."
+
+"Well, bring some in, if you can. I believe my brain begins to get
+rusty. Will you come--soon? You will always find me in my office."
+
+There is something in the inflection of the voice that secretly
+delights Marcia. She has a taste for mystery and intrigue, but she is
+not secretive, she has too much vanity.
+
+"I will, as soon as I can get about it," with what she considers
+well-bred indifference.
+
+She shuts herself up in her studio all the next morning, all the
+afternoon and evening. She has a good deal of just this artistic
+faculty. The next day she copies and colors, and on the third Floyd
+goes to New York, and she drives to the factory. Eugene is out, as fate
+will have it.
+
+Mr. Wilmarth receives her with just the right touch of graciousness,
+praises a little, finds a little fault, suggests a touch here and
+there, and admits that he is pleased with two, and thinks he shall use
+them. Marcia goes up to the seventh heaven of delight, and sees before
+her fame and fortune.
+
+"Look over these," says Mr. Wilmarth. "They do not quite suit me. See
+if you can suggest anything. These Japanese designs admit of endless
+variation."
+
+An hour passes ere Marcia consults her watch, and then she professes to
+be greatly surprised. What must poor Dolly think of her? "For I never
+make such unconscionable calls," she declares, and fancies that she
+blushes over it.
+
+"It has been extremely pleasant to me," Mr. Wilmarth replies, in a tone
+of grave compliment. "I am so much alone. I miss your father more than
+any of you would suspect, I dare say. We used to consult together so
+much, and he was in and out a dozen times a day."
+
+"But everything goes on _well_?" says Marcia, in an undecided tone of
+inquiry.
+
+"Yes, if by that you mean prosperously. We are on the high road to
+fortune," and he laughs disagreeably. "I only wish your father were
+alive to enjoy it. It has been a hard pull for the last two years."
+
+"Poor papa!" Marcia gives a pathetic little sniff. "But then it is
+something to have gained a success!"
+
+"Yes, when one has friends or relatives to enjoy it. I sometimes wonder
+why _I_ go on struggling for wealth, to leave it to some charity at the
+last."
+
+"Have you really no one?" Marcia lowers her voice to a point of
+sentiment.
+
+"Not a living soul to take a kindly interest in me," he answers, in a
+bitter fashion. "All my kith and kin, and they were not many, died
+years ago. If I had been attractive to women's eyes----"
+
+Marcia lets hers droop, and does this time manage a faint color. There
+is a touch of romance in this utter desolation.
+
+"I _must_ go," she again declares, reluctantly. "Poor Dolly will be
+tired to death standing."
+
+"Take these with you, and I shall be sure of another visit," and he
+hands her the roll.
+
+Marcia glides along as if on air. To her any admiration from a man is
+sweet incense. It is not so much the person as the food to her vanity.
+There are women who enjoy the gift with but little thought of the
+giver. In Mrs. Vandervoort's spacious parlors she has received
+compliments and attentions from people of note with a thrill of
+triumph; she is not less pleased with her present interview. It is
+almost as if Wilmarth had asked her for sympathy, interest, and she has
+so much to bestow. Gertrude has spent her days in novel-reading, going
+into other people's joys and woes. Marcia always lives in them
+directly. She recasts the events, and makes herself the centre of the
+episode. She is quite certain she could have done better in the
+exigency than the friend she contemplates. She could have loved more
+deeply, been wiser, stronger, tenderer, and more patient. There would
+be no end to her virtues or her devotion. Men are certainly
+short-sighted to choose these weak or cold or indifferent women, when
+there are others with just the right mental equipoise.
+
+She springs into her phaeton and starts up Dolly. There is a quiver and
+glow of spring in the air, grown softer since morning, a breath of
+sweetness, and Marcia's mood is exultant. She has bearded the lion in
+his den, and his roar was not terrific. It is the power of Una, the
+sweet and gentle woman. How desperately melancholy he looked; what a
+touch of cynicism there was in his tone, engendered by loneliness and
+too much communing with self. Instantly she feels herself capable of
+consoling, of restoring to hope, to animation, to the delights of
+living.
+
+And Marcia enjoys living very much indeed, if she can only have money.
+There never has been a day when she would have exchanged her pony for
+Laura's piano. She can play with considerable fashionable brilliance,
+but of the divine compensations of music she knows nothing. When Violet
+sits and plays for hours without an audience it seems silly to Marcia.
+She cannot understand the subtle and intense delight; for her there
+must always be _one_ in the audience, if no more.
+
+She wears an air of mystery at the dinner-table, and is apparently
+abstracted trying on her new emotions. Floyd is wondering if all this
+has not been very dull for Violet. If there only was some one to take a
+vital interest in her. They have begun to make neighborhood calls, and
+cards are left for Mrs. Floyd Grandon, invitations to teas and quiet
+gatherings. Violet cannot go alone, and Floyd is so often engaged or
+away. Mrs. Grandon does not trouble herself about her daughter-in-law,
+and says frankly to intimates,--
+
+"Floyd's marriage always will be a great disappointment to me. She is
+such a child, just a fit companion for Cecil!"
+
+When Floyd watches her in his questioning way her sweet face brightens
+and her soft brown eyes glow with delight.
+
+"I wonder if you are happy?" he says this evening when they are alone.
+
+"Happy?"
+
+He reads it in her eyes, her voice, in the exultation visible in every
+feature.
+
+"You are a little jewel, Violet," he replies, tenderly, drawing her
+nearer and pressing the soft cheek with the palm of his hand, which is
+almost as soft. "I have been so much engrossed that I am afraid I
+sometimes neglect you, but never designedly, my darling."
+
+"I know you are very busy," she makes answer, in her cheerful voice,
+"and I am not a silly child."
+
+He wonders if there is such a thing as her being too sensible, too
+self-denying! While he could not now take life on the old terms and be
+tormented daily and hourly by foolish caprices, is there not some
+middle ground for youth? Are there too many years between them!
+
+"Your birthday will be in June," he says,--he has travelled that far
+already,--"and you must have a birthday ball."
+
+"And you will dance with me?" she gently reminds, as she slips her arm
+over his shoulder caressingly.
+
+"Regardless of the figure I shall cut!" and he laughs.
+
+"Oh, but you know you have a handsome figure!"
+
+"And I must do my dancing before I get too stout. Well, yes, I shall be
+your _first_ partner."
+
+"Oh, am I to dance with any one else?" she asks, in a faint tone of
+surprise.
+
+"Why--yes--quadrilles, I believe, are admissible."
+
+"I wish we had some music, we might waltz anytime," and she pats her
+little foot on the floor; "just you and I together."
+
+"Well, I shall have to buy a music-box, and we can dance out on the
+lawn after the manner of the German and French peasants."
+
+She gives such a lovely, rippling laugh that he indulges in a still
+fonder squeeze. It is very pleasant to have her. That is as far as
+Floyd Grandon has yet gone.
+
+"But from now to then," he asks, "what can you find to amuse yourself
+with?"
+
+"To amuse myself?" she asks, rather puzzled. "Why, you are not going
+away?" and she grasps his arm tightly.
+
+"Going away! No." She _would_ miss him then; but, he reflects, there is
+no one else for companionship. Marcia somehow is not congenial, and
+Eugene--how much company a pleasant young fellow like Eugene might
+prove.
+
+"Is there any one you would like to ask here?" He thinks of madame,--she
+would be a delightful summer guest. He would like to open his house, he
+does owe something to society for its warm welcome to him.
+
+"I don't really know any one but Mrs. Latimer. Oh," she says, with a
+bright ring in her voice, "how nice it would be to have them both, and
+the children! Would your mother mind very much, I wonder?"
+
+"It need be no trouble to her," he says, almost coldly, "and _you_ are
+to have your wishes gratified in your _own_ house."
+
+She cannot get over the feeling that she is merely on sufferance. As
+the time goes on she understands the situation more clearly. Mrs.
+Grandon does not like to have her Floyd's wife, and she _would_ like
+Madame Lepelletier in the place. But how strange that no one seems to
+remember the old time when she jilted him, as Marcia says.
+
+"But all that will be so much nicer in the summer," he goes on,
+reflectively. "The children can run out of doors. Yes, we will have the
+Latimers and any one else we choose, and be really like civilized
+people. I hope Gertrude can get back."
+
+"Oh, I do hope so!" she re-echoes.
+
+The next morning he takes Violet and Cecil out for a long drive, way up
+the river. It is the last day of March, and there is a softness in the
+air, a bluish mist over the river, and a tender gray green on the
+hillsides. The very crags seem less rugged and frowning. It is really
+spring!
+
+"Oh, how delightful it will be!" she exclaims. "Are there not wild
+flowers about here? We can have some lovely rambles gathering them. And
+there will be the gardens, and the whole world growing lovelier every
+day."
+
+They stop at a hotel and have a dinner, which they enjoy with the
+appetites of travellers. Just above there is a pretty waterfall, much
+swollen by the spring rains, then there is a high rock with a legend,
+one of the numerous "Lover's Leap," but the prospect from its top is
+superb, so they climb up and view the undulating country, the blue,
+winding river, the nooks and crags, dotted here and there by cottages
+that seem to hang on their sides, a slow team jogging round, or fields
+being ploughed. All the air is sweet with pine and spruce, and that
+indescribable fragrance of spring.
+
+Floyd Grandon is so happy to-day that he almost wishes he had a little
+world of his own, with just Violet and Cecil. If it were not for this
+wretched business; but then he is likely to get it off his hands some
+time, and as it is turning out so much better than he once feared, he
+must be content.
+
+If there were many days like this! If husband and wife could grow into
+each other's souls, could see that it was not separate lives, but one
+true life that constituted marriage; but she does not know, and does
+her best in sweet, brave content; and he is ignorant of the intense joy
+and satisfaction the deeper mutual love might bring. He is a little
+afraid. He does not want to yield his whole mind and soul to any
+overwhelming or exhausting passion, and yet he sometimes wonders what
+Violet would be if her entire nature were stirred, roused to its
+utmost.
+
+But the morrow brings its every-day cares and duties. Floyd is wanted
+in the city. He drops into madame's and finds her in the midst of
+plans. She is to give an elegant little musicale about the 10th, and he
+must surely bring his wife, who is to stay all night. She, madame, will
+hear of nothing to the contrary. No woman was ever more charming in
+these daintily arbitrary moods, and he promises. All the singers will
+be professional, there will be several instrumental pieces, and the
+invitations are to be strictly limited.
+
+She touches upon his work with delicate praise and appreciation. It
+would seem that she kept herself informed of all he did, but she never
+questions him in any inquisitive manner. She is really intimate with
+the Latimers, so she hears, no doubt. It _will_ be charming to add
+her to the summer party. There are other delightful people for Violet
+to know as soon as she can begin to entertain society.
+
+Violet is not much troubled about society these pleasant days. April
+comes in blustering, then turns suddenly warm, and lo! the earth seems
+covered with velvet in the wonderful emerald green of spring. She hunts
+the woods for violets and anemones, and puts them in her father's
+room,--it is her room now, for she was very happy in it when her ankle
+was hurt. She moves out her few pictures, a lovely Mater Doloroso,
+whose grief is blended with heavenly resignation, and the ever-clear
+Huguenot Lovers. Both have been school gifts. For the rest, her girl's
+chamber was simple as any nun's.
+
+Marcia makes her second visit to Mr. Wilmarth, and leaves Dolly at
+home. Now there is a rather curious desire of secrecy on her part; the
+whole thing is so much more charming enveloped in mystery. Mr. Wilmarth
+receives her with a brusque sort of cordiality, as if he was rather
+striving against himself, and she sees it, as he means she shall. The
+drawings are satisfactory, and he expresses his obligation to her.
+
+"I don't know as I can summon up courage to offer you any ordinary
+payment," he says, "but if you will accept some gift in its stead,--if
+you will allow me to make it something beyond a mere business
+transaction----"
+
+"Oh, it is such a trifle," and Marcia's head takes its airy curve. "I
+think I should like----"
+
+"Well?" he asks, rather startled.
+
+"Please don't laugh at me," she begins, in a tone of girlish entreaty,
+which is not bad, "but I have been thinking--wondering if I could turn
+my gift to any advantage?"
+
+Marcia is really blushing now. It seems paltry to think of working for
+money, unless one could earn it by the hundreds.
+
+"Yes, I suppose you could," he replies, "but you have a genius for
+better things. You _can_ design very well," and he is in earnest now.
+"There are a great many branches. Why?" he asks, abruptly.
+
+"Oh," she replies, "I get so tired of the frivolity of life. I long to
+do something beyond the mere trifles."
+
+"I suppose you miss both of your sisters," he remarks, with a touch of
+sympathy. "You are learning now what loneliness is. Although there is
+your brother's wife----"
+
+"A child, a mere child, who can thrum a little on the piano and dress
+dolls for Cecil. I never _could_ understand _why_ Floyd married her."
+
+"There was the fortune," suggests Mr. Wilmarth.
+
+"Oh, Floyd did not care for that! You see he has had it all tied up so
+that he cannot touch it."
+
+"Those who tie can sometimes untie," he answers, dryly.
+
+"No. _I_ have always thought there was some silly sentiment, or perhaps
+Mr. St. Vincent asked it of him," she cries, with sudden inspiration,
+"for Floyd could have rewarded her for saving the child's life."
+
+Evidently the marriage is not pleasing to Miss Marcia. That scores one
+in her favor as a good ally. Through Eugene he has learned that it was
+generally unsatisfactory, but he has fancied Marcia just the kind to be
+caught by a sweet young girl.
+
+He has been considering the point in all its bearings these few
+days,--whether he really wants to be bothered with a wife, only he need
+not allow the wife to bother, and whether it would be better to win her
+openly or not. If the house at the park were her father's, but it is
+Floyd Grandon's, and he might some day be dismissed. He feels
+intuitively that Grandon would oppose the marriage from the
+under-current of enmity between. Of course he could persuade Marcia to
+secret meetings and a marriage. Would it not be more of a triumph if
+the whole matter were kept a secret?
+
+He draws from Marcia, with the requisite astuteness, and it does not
+need much, the state of affairs and her own position at home. She would
+be ready enough to change it, that he sees. With a touch of secret
+elation he knows he could make this woman worship him like a bond slave
+while the bewilderment lasted. He has never been so worshipped. He has
+known of several women who would have married him, but it would have
+been for a home and a protector. He has not been sufficiently
+unfortunate to inspire any one with that profound and tender pity that
+women do sometimes give to deformity or accident; he has no particular
+gifts or genius to win a heart, he is now quite to middle life and
+cannot reasonably expect to grow handsomer. Under any circumstances he
+could hardly hope to marry into a family like that of the Grandons, and
+though he shall not be friends with a single member, still, it will
+gratify his pride, and Floyd Grandon must be more considerate of his
+business interests.
+
+All these things run through his mind as he talks to her. She is rather
+coquettish and vain and silly,--his eyes are pitilessly clear,--and she
+may afford him some amusement when her unreasoning adoration ends. He
+sees the fact that he is attracted towards her, moves her curiously.
+If he is to take a wife he will not have her cold and selfishly
+considerate, but quaff the full cup of adoration at first, even if it
+does turn to ashes and dust afterward.
+
+"I wonder," he says, after they have talked away the genial spring
+afternoon, "when I shall see you again,--when I may present my little
+gift. Your brother and I are _not_ cordial friends. I offered him some
+advice in the beginning, as an elder might reasonably give to an
+inexperienced person, which he resented quite indignantly, and he
+prefers to use his own wisdom. I am not quarrelsome, and so we are
+comfortable business compeers, but hardly calling friends, and since
+you are in his house I must deny myself the pleasure. Do you not
+sometimes go to walk? I know you drive a good deal."
+
+She catches the cue, and her heart bounds.
+
+"I _do_ go out to sketch," she says, with admirable modesty.
+
+"Ah, that would be an enjoyment. _Will_ you allow me to come?"
+
+There is a most flattering entreaty in his tone.
+
+Marcia considers. Violet and Cecil are forever rambling round, and she
+knows how easily an interview can be spoiled. It will hardly be safe to
+appoint one between here and Grandon Park. Down below the park there is
+a little cove, with a splendid view opposite, and a grove of trees for
+protection. She will appoint it here. Friday is unlucky. Saturday will
+be busy for him, so it is settled for Monday of the next week, and he
+agrees, with a peculiar smile and a pressure of the hand.
+
+Marcia Grandon walks home in a state of triumph. Experience forbids her
+to count upon this man as a positive lover, but he _is_ an admirer.
+They have a disagreeable habit of going so far and then taking wing.
+Marriage seems an event rather difficult of accomplishment, for with
+all Marcia's flighty romance she shrinks from encountering actual
+poverty, but it might be this man's admiration is sufficiently strong
+to lead him beyond the debatable land. She hesitates just a little,
+then solaces herself with the improbability.
+
+Still, she is in a flutter of excitement when she goes up to her room
+after luncheon. What shall she wear? Bonnets and hats are tried on, and
+she passes and repasses before the glass to study the jauntiness or
+attractiveness of different styles. Her dress is gray, and she finally
+settles upon a light gray chip, with two long black plumes that almost
+touch her shoulder. A cluster of pansies would be very effective at her
+throat. Violet wears them a good deal, so she selects the finest in the
+greenhouse, and takes a parasol with a lilac lining. She does look very
+well. Before mourning, her taste was rather _bizarre_, but it has been
+toned down somewhat.
+
+Jasper Wilmarth is first on the spot. She has dallied so long with
+toilet questions, that it has given the man's complacency a little
+start, no bad thing. She catches a glimpse of him and is filled with
+trepidation, for up to this moment she has not been quite sure but he
+would _allow_ something to prevent.
+
+He takes both hands. The consciousness goes over her that he _is_ a
+lover. He is not a handsome man, with his high shoulders, short neck,
+and rugged face, but to-day he has taken some pains, and lets his
+steely eyes soften, his lips show their bit of red under the gray
+mustache. His necktie is fresh, his clothes have been brushed, and if
+the soul animating the man was even as good as the body it would be
+better for all who come in contact with him.
+
+He has resolved to try his utmost at fascination. It is strong,
+masterly, imperious, but he seems to check himself now and then, as if
+he wanted her to believe he was holding in the actual man for her sake,
+and Marcia is immensely flattered. He has brought her a really
+beautiful bracelet, counting on her personal vanity, and she is quite
+overwhelmed.
+
+"If it had been any ordinary designer, of course I should have paid the
+usual price for the work," he explains, "but I wanted you to remember
+the pleasure the interviews gave me."
+
+"You rate them too highly," says Marcia, falteringly.
+
+"Ah, I didn't say they gave _you_ pleasure," he answers. "You have so
+much society, so many friends, but a poor unfortunate fellow like me
+gets early shelved, and crumbs are not to my taste. I am just selfish
+enough to want a whole piece of cake."
+
+"Well, why should you not have it?" says Marcia, who is well versed in
+the audacities of coquetry.
+
+"I am not at all sure I could get it, the kind I want."
+
+He folds his hands behind him and they walk down to the shore. Her
+portfolio she has consigned to a rocky crevice: there will be no
+sketching she is well aware.
+
+"I think a man--can get a great deal," she says, in a meditative sort
+of tone. "He can dare almost anything. Indeed, it occurs to me that it
+is often women who take up with the crumbs."
+
+"And there are seasons in life when one would be glad to offer an
+equivalent, if one had the nice iced and ornamented cake."
+
+"Oh, you fancy women are always on the lookout for sweets, Mr.
+Wilmarth," she says, parrying. "There are other things----"
+
+"As what?"
+
+"Strength, power, honor, manliness."
+
+"I wonder," he begins, musingly, "how long strength and manliness would
+stand against beauty and the soft, seductive flatteries of society. I
+wonder what they in their ruggedness would win? What a lovely day it
+is, and what a solemn talk! I shall bore you," suddenly changing his
+tone.
+
+Marcia protests. They ramble up and down, and skirmish. He has fancied
+her an over-ripe peach ready to fall, but is surprised at her numerous
+little defences. It is fortunate for her that she cannot think him in
+solemn earnest, for her uncertainty adds a zest to his pursuit.
+
+When they part it is with the understanding that she shall not attend
+the musicale, which she really cares little about, and that he shall
+spend the evening with her. It is a rather bold step, and his
+acquiescence sends a tremor through every pulse. What if he _should_
+prove a lover?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+Love that is ignorant, and hatred have almost the same ends.--BEN
+JONSON.
+
+
+What if Jasper Wilmarth should prove that ardently desired person, a
+lover? Marcia Grandon wonders what she would do, what she had better
+do? The years are beginning to fly apace. True, Gertrude married at
+thirty, after she had lost her greatest attractions, and was quite
+indifferent whether she pleased or not. Marcia is past twenty-six, and
+it is but a step to thirty. If she could set up for a genius and have a
+pretty house of her own, but the house is out of the question, and to
+be confronted with Violet's youth and freshness every day in the year
+is much too bitter! Jasper Wilmarth is not a man to be proud of in
+society, unless it is for his very ugliness and the almost deformity.
+She thinks of Venus and Vulcan. She might call him playfully her
+Vulcan; at least, she could to her friends. She will have a house of
+her own, she will be _Mrs._, and, after all, the world is much more
+tolerant to married women than to spinsters of an uncertain age. She is
+not invited with very young girls any more, but as Mrs. Wilmarth she
+can ask them to her house and patronize them. Then married women are
+allowed to flirt shamefully with _young_ men; and though Mr. Wilmarth
+cannot dance, she may have other partners. Altogether, she would be
+immeasurably better off, even if she did not care very much for him.
+But there would be a spice of romance, and somehow she half believes
+she could love him if she was _sure_, and if he loved her. She has
+weakly and foolishly come to care for more than one who did not love
+her, to whom the attention was merely pastime, or perhaps amusement.
+She will be wary and learn first what his intentions really are.
+
+So at the last moment she has a headache and will not go to Madame
+Lepelletier's. Mrs. Grandon's invitation is for a week, and Eugene
+takes her down in the morning, and loiters most of the day in the
+seductive house. When Floyd and Violet are out of the way, Marcia
+attires herself in a white cashmere dress and scarlet geraniums, and
+steals down to the drawing-room wrapped in a Shetland shawl, nervous,
+curious, and expectant. What if he should _not_ come?
+
+It is not Jasper Wilmarth's intention to slight the gods. He is
+scrupulously dressed, and understands the courtesies of society, if he
+seldom has need of them. Marcia looks reasonably pretty in this
+handsome room, where there is just enough light to suggest, not enough
+to glare, and a subtile fragrance of heliotrope. He might marry women
+superior to Marcia Grandon who would not bring him her family prestige.
+They may dislike him, but they cannot quite crowd him out of
+everything.
+
+Marcia receives him with much trepidation. Acute as he is, he does not
+understand her, for the simple reason that he does not give her credit
+for the shrewdness engendered by much experience. If she cannot have
+the marriage she will have the flirtation, and she suspects the latter.
+
+He does soon set her mind at rest, and she is surprised at a positive
+offer of marriage. He makes it because he knows she will be the more
+ready to devise ways of meeting him.
+
+"It is abrupt, I know," he begins, in a peculiarly apologetical tone,
+"but I wanted you to know my intentions. Circumstances might be rather
+against us if we undertook the orthodox courtship," and he smiles. "I
+am aware that I have not the graces of youth and comeliness, and for
+various reasons your family might oppose. But I am not a poor man, and
+I think--if a woman loved me--I want her to love me," he says, with
+sudden vehemence that looks like passion. "I want her to adore me, I
+want to know what it is to be loved in spite of my drawbacks!"
+
+He has touched the right chord in Marcia's nature. She is always ready
+to adore when opportunity offers. And though she has loved numberless
+times, she is ready to begin over again, and yields to the masterful
+force that experiments with her. The touch of her hand is soft and
+tremulous, and her kisses are delicate, sweet. He gives himself up to
+an idiocy he does not believe in, and really enjoys the blissfulness,
+as an Eastern despot might enjoy the admiration of a new slave.
+
+Marcia is supremely happy encircled by these strong arms. Before her
+closed eyes floats in magic letters her new name. She will not be the
+old maid of the family after all. If she did not know the world so
+well, she would be moved to show her gratitude, but it is much wiser to
+show her love.
+
+"I shall want to see you," he says, "and we cannot always count on
+occasions like these. I must leave the opportunities largely to you. A
+note directed to my box will escape prying eyes. We can have walks
+together; why, we could even have drives if you were good enough to
+invite me."
+
+"I should be delighted!" cries Marcia, exultantly.
+
+"Only, we must not choose public thoroughfares." And his smile is
+fascinating to Marcia, who of late has had no really impassioned
+love-making.
+
+He puts his arm around her as he stands up to go, and experiences a
+sort of tender contempt for her. He certainly could grow quite fond of
+this willing slave, and he will let himself enjoy all the pleasure that
+can be drained out of it.
+
+Marcia opens the hall door for her lover and closes it again softly.
+She meets Briggs coming in from fastening the library windows.
+
+"Briggs," she remarks, "that was Mr. Wilmarth. I had some special
+business with him. I have been drawing patterns; but I would rather his
+call should not be mentioned."
+
+Briggs bows obediently.
+
+In her own room Marcia gives way to a wild delight. She is sure she
+does not look to be over twenty, she is glad to be rather small, and
+can imagine how she will appear beside Mr. Wilmarth's broad shoulders
+and frowning face. Quite piquant and fairy-like, and then to love with
+one's whole soul, unsuspected by the sharp eyes of critical kindred,
+who do not appreciate her lover; to carry about a delicious secret, to
+plan and to steal out to promised interviews, and at last,--for he has
+hinted that he shall be a rather impatient wooer,--at last to surprise
+them by a marriage. She can hardly compose herself to sleep, so busy
+and excited are brain and nerves.
+
+The musicale is a success, one of the enviable events of the season,
+and there is a most charming supper afterward. Violet's enjoyment is
+so perfect that she takes herself quite to task for not being better
+friends with madame, since Mr. Grandon really desires it. Why should
+she allow that old dead-and-gone ghost to walk in this bright present?
+She is never troubled about Cecil's mother, and Mr. Grandon must have
+loved her; she is never jealous of Cecil. This is nothing like
+jealousy, she tells herself; it is a peculiar distrust; she does not
+want madame to gain any influence over _her_. She is ready enough to
+admit and to admire her wonderful beauty, but her presence seems like
+some overpowering fragrance that might lull one into a dangerous sleep.
+
+And yet Violet finds, as the time goes on, that she does come into her
+life and smooths it mysteriously. Laura has less of that insolent
+superiority when madame is present, and Mrs. Grandon seems more gentle.
+Then madame can convey bits of society counsel so delicately, she
+always seems to know just when Violet is not quite certain of any step.
+
+"I should really have loved her at first," Violet half admits to
+herself, "if nothing had been said."
+
+Gertrude and the professor are going to Mexico, and will not be back
+for some time. Everybody is planning for summer. Laura talks of a run
+over to Europe; the Vandervoorts take Newport as a matter of course,
+and send thither carriages and horses. Mrs. Latimer spends a few days
+at Grandon Park, and ends by taking the cottage with Denise, after she
+has had a luncheon within its charmed precincts. Madame lingers and is
+undecided, then what she considers a very fortunate incident settles
+her at Grandon Park, with a lovely cottage, horses, and an elderly half
+invalid for companion.
+
+About the middle of May, Marcia Grandon makes her grand _coup de
+grace_. She fancies she has had it all her own way, that she has
+planned; but some one behind was gently manipulating the cords of his
+puppet. There have been delicious stolen interviews, notes, and the
+peculiar half-intrigue, half-deception Marcia so loves. Violet has
+remarked an odd change in her; Mrs. Grandon has been a good deal
+occupied, and has grown accustomed to her daughter's vagaries, so no
+one has paid any special heed. Marcia has ordered a _trousseau_ in the
+city, and one fine morning goes down in her airiest manner, and in
+pearl silk is made Mrs. Wilmarth. From thence they send out cards, and
+Marcia writes to her mother, to Laura, who comes in haste, and is both
+angry and incredulous; angry that Jasper Wilmarth should have been
+brought into the family, when she had done it the honor to connect it
+with the Vandervoorts and Delancys.
+
+Marcia is quite resplendent in silk and lace, and does look blissfully
+content.
+
+"What an awful fool you have made of yourself!" is the tender
+salutation, since Mr. Wilmarth is not present. "What you ever could see
+in _that_ man passes my comprehension! He may do for business, but if
+_I_ understand rightly, Floyd is not over-fond of him. I suppose that
+was why you married on the sly?"
+
+"I married to please myself," says Marcia, bridling, "and I dare say
+you did the same. I have a husband who is kind and generous and noble,
+who loves me and whom I love, and if fate has in some ways treated him
+unkindly, he shall learn that there is one woman in the world brave
+enough to make it up to him."
+
+She repeats this almost like a lesson learned by rote.
+
+"Bosh," returns Laura, with contemptuous superiority. "I dare say you
+thought it would be the last chance!"
+
+"Oh, I have heard of women marrying even at forty," retorts Marcia,
+with a shrill little laugh.
+
+"And to do it in that way! Whatever possessed you to make such an idiot
+of yourself. To bring _that_ man in the family!"
+
+"You forget he is my husband, Mrs. Delancy," and Marcia braves her
+resolutely.
+
+At this moment the door opens and the obnoxious person enters, having
+heard his wife's last sentence. He walks straight up to Laura, with
+determination in every line of his countenance.
+
+"Ah, Mrs. Delancy," he says, and then adds in a meaning tone, with a
+kind of bitter suavity, "I suppose we do not need to be introduced.
+Although I never was much of a visitor in my late partner's household,
+I have known you all, and I suppose am entitled to a little friendly
+recognition for Marcia's sake. We have taken our step in a most
+unorthodox manner, but it suited ourselves, our only apology."
+
+"Extremely unorthodox," says Laura, in a biting tone.
+
+"But we propose to make it orthodox as soon as possible. Marcia, brave
+girl, would have married me in the face of any staring audience. She
+might have had a younger and handsomer bridegroom, but she can hardly
+have a husband who will care more tenderly for her."
+
+Laura is rather checked in her angry career. She dare not brave these
+steel-gray eyes.
+
+"We are all very much surprised; at least I am, having heard no word or
+hint of it."
+
+"We did keep our secret pretty well, I believe," and he glances fondly
+at Marcia.
+
+"Well," replies Laura, rising, "I suppose the best wish of all is that
+you may not regret your step in haste."
+
+"It was not so hasty as that," and he laughs, with the flavor of one
+who has won.
+
+Laura makes her adieus coldly, feeling outgeneralled by his evident
+determination not to be put down.
+
+"What are we to do?" she asks of madame, half an hour later. "This
+horrid reception staring us in the face! Of course people will go out
+of curiosity. Marcia always did delight in being talked about."
+
+"But is her husband so horribly unpresentable?" and madame's beautiful
+eyes are filled with sympathy.
+
+"Oh, you can present _anything_ here in New York, that is the worst of
+it!" cries Laura, angrily. "That is why I like Newport. And Marcia is
+so utterly silly."
+
+"But Mr. Wilmarth?"
+
+"I hate the sight of him, and Marcia used to say everything about him.
+He's humpbacked or something, and looks like a tiger. Well, I _do_ wish
+her joy if ever he should get in a tantrum. You see, after all, the
+idea of bringing such a man in the family. Floyd's marriage was bad
+enough."
+
+"But your _petite_ sister-in-law does improve wonderfully."
+
+"Don't call her anything to me," says Laura, disdainfully. "She is
+simply Floyd's wife. I only wish we were going to sail this very day
+and get out of all the _escalandre_."
+
+Madame laughs comfortingly. Laura resolves to go up to Grandon Park to
+see in what estimation the marriage is held there.
+
+They are surprised and puzzled. Mrs. Grandon's mortification is a
+little assuaged, and in her secret heart she is thankful Marcia has
+done no worse. She has been lawfully married by a reputable clergyman,
+she is staying at a fashionable hotel, and will no doubt have a stylish
+reception. She has married a man who can not only keep her in comfort,
+but who is likely to keep her out of any further imprudences, and
+therefore one need have no care or anxiety about the future. The step
+certainly has some compensations to her, if they are and must remain
+unconfessed to the world.
+
+"I do regret it," Floyd says, candidly, "for I am afraid Marcia's
+romance has led her into an unwise step. I cannot imagine Jasper
+Wilmarth being tender to a woman. I have never been able to like or
+admire him, or, for that matter, trust him, and our views seldom
+accord. I suppose the secret of it was that Marcia was afraid of
+opposition."
+
+"But what are you going to do, recognize them at once?"
+
+"If at all, why not at once? Why make a little stir and gossip? We
+shall never be altogether friendly," and Floyd paces the room, for he
+sees this step complicates business matters still further, "but we can
+keep people from commenting upon our unfriendliness."
+
+"Of course they will come back here to live, and it might be awkward
+for you," returns Laura, rather elated that they are not likely to stay
+in the city. "Well, if there _is_ nothing else to do----"
+
+"We may as well put a pleasant face on the matter and swallow our
+bitter pill," says Floyd, with a smile of concession.
+
+"Do you know," says Violet, afterward, with a touch of timidity that is
+quite entrancing, "I cannot help admiring Marcia's courage in marrying
+a man she loved, even if he was not--and he _is_ quite dreadful," with
+a shivering incoherence. "I saw him when he came to Canada, and he made
+me think of an ogre. Yet it would be very hard if the whole world hated
+you for something you could not help, like a deformity."
+
+"I have known several instances of men worse deformed than Mr. Wilmarth
+being extravagantly loved," says Grandon, thinking how nearly this man
+might have been her fate, and wondering if she could have reconciled
+herself to it. "But we are very apt to connect warped bodies with
+warped minds, and I must confess to a distaste for either. I should
+like to be sure it was--regard that brought them together."
+
+She remembers that Marcia is rather peculiar, always taking sudden
+fancies and then dropping them. This she never can give up, never.
+
+"What thought so perplexes that wise little face," asks her husband.
+
+"Oh, she must have loved him or she could not have married him," she
+says, still thinking of Marcia.
+
+"Does that follow, I wonder?"
+
+"Why, she had her choice, you know, there was no other reason for her
+to marry him," she answers, innocently.
+
+He wonders just now what Violet St. Vincent would have done had a
+choice been hers! He is well aware that she obeyed her father, and that
+he was not distasteful to her. She is sweet and dutiful and fond, not
+at all exacting, and has the obedience of a well-trained child. Does he
+care for anything more? Could he have it if he _did_ care, if he
+desired it ardently?
+
+Mrs. Jasper Wilmarth's reception is a crush. It would seem that no one
+stayed away, and it looks as if they might have brought cousins and
+aunts. She is in pale blue silk and velvet, and looks very pretty, for
+Marcia brightens up wonderfully with becoming dress. Mr. Wilmarth's
+tailor has made the best of his figure, and he brings out the training
+of years agone, when he had some ambitions. Society decides that it
+must have been merely a whim, for the man is certainly well enough, and
+really adores her. Even Laura wonders how Marcia managed to inspire
+this regard, and decides that the marriage is not so bad, after all,
+and she shall never have Marcia to chaperone.
+
+Floyd Grandon and his wife are down in the early part of the evening.
+This is really Mr. Wilmarth's triumph. The greeting is courteous, if
+formal, and the man has come to _him_, Jasper Wilmarth. As a member of
+the Grandon family, he is not to be overlooked. As a man, he can win a
+wife as well as the more favored ones, and there are women present with
+much less style and prettiness than Marcia.
+
+His whim has not proved so foolish, after all, and Marcia is at present
+bewildered and conquered by the power he holds over her, brought for a
+little while out of her silly self by an ennobling regard.
+
+After their reception they take a short tour, and return to Westbrook,
+where Mr. Wilmarth has engaged his house. Marcia has a house-furnishing
+craze, and goes to and fro in her pony carriage, ordering with the
+consequence of a duchess. Mrs. Latimer comes up to the cottage and gets
+settled, quite charming Denise by her delightful ways. Madame seems in
+no especial haste, but she promises, after some solicitation from
+Floyd, to spend a few days with them and give her advice about the
+_fete_ that is to introduce his wife into society, as well as to
+celebrate her birthday. It is quite time that Violet was known to the
+world as the mistress of the house and his wife. He is oddly interested
+in her dress and all her belongings, and her delight is exquisite to
+witness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+Life is but thought, so think I will,
+That youth and I are housemates still.
+
+                         COLERIDGE.
+
+
+Violet had imagined the place when Laura's reception was given, but
+this sight far exceeds her wildest dreams. The moon is nearly at its
+full, and the lawn lies in a sheet of silver light, while the lamps
+throw out long rays of color. Roses are everywhere, it is their
+blossoming time. All the air is sweet and throbs with music that stirs
+her pulses like some rare enchantment. The odorous evergreens are rich
+in new and fragrant growth, the velvet turf gives out a perfume to the
+night air and looks like emerald in the moonlight. Beds of flowers are
+cut in it here and there, a few clumps of shrubbery, the pretty
+summer-houses, the sloping terrace, and the river surging with an
+indolent monotone, make a rarely beautiful picture. The columns
+upholding the porch roof are wreathed with vines, but the spaces
+between are clear. The low windows are all open, and it is fairyland
+without and within. Floyd Grandon paces up and down, with John Latimer
+at his side, while the band around on the other side are in the discord
+of tuning up.
+
+"Upon my word, Grandon, you _are_ to be envied," says Latimer. "I am
+not sure we have done a wise thing coming up here this summer. The fuss
+and pomp of fashion rarely move me to any jealous state of mind, but I
+am afraid this will awaken absolute covetousness."
+
+Grandon gives a genial, wholesome laugh, and he almost believes he is
+to be envied, in spite of the perplexities not yet at an end. He is
+proud of his lovely home, he has a beautiful child and a sweet wife,
+and if she does not charm the whole world what does he care? There is
+no one left to fret them in household ways, for he fancies he has seen
+signs of softening in his mother, and she is having new interests in
+life, with her daughters well married. There is only Eugene to feel
+really anxious about.
+
+The carriages are driving up the avenue and there is a flutter through
+the hall. Floyd goes up-stairs presently and finds Violet in his room
+waiting for the finishing touches to be added to Cecil's attire. She
+turns quickly, and a soft flush makes her bewitching, radiant.
+
+"How do you like me?" she asks, in her innocent simplicity.
+
+She is in pure white, his favorite attire for her, but the wraith-like
+laces draping her lend her a different air from anything he has seen
+before. The rose-leaf tint in her cheek, her lovely dimpled mouth, the
+eyes that look browner and more like velvet than ever, and the shining
+hair give her a glamour of sweetness and youth that stirs his heart to
+its very depths.
+
+"Like you?" he echoes; "you are beautiful, bewitching!"
+
+She comes a little nearer. His commendation makes her extremely happy.
+He holds out both hands, and she places hers in them, and kisses her on
+the forehead; he has fallen so much into the habit that he does it
+unthinkingly.
+
+"Floyd," says Mrs. Grandon, from the hall, "you certainly ought to go
+down."
+
+"I am all ready," cries Cecil, who flies out, beautiful as a fairy, in
+a shimmer of white and pale blue, her waving hair like a shower of
+gold.
+
+Violet is a good deal frightened at first, although she resolutely
+forces herself to a point of bravery. She has never been the central
+figure before, and she has a consciousness that all eyes are turned
+upon her, and that she hardly has a right to the use of her true name
+while Mr. Grandon's stately mother is present. Laura is resplendent in
+silk and lace,--she never affects any _ingenue_ style,--and madame is
+a dazzle in black and gold, her Parisian dress of lace a marvel of
+clinging beauty, and her Marechal Niel roses superb. She has been
+mistress and head for several days, but now she is simply the guest,
+and none better than she knows how to grace the position.
+
+Outside there is a sea of bewildering melody, that pulses on the air in
+rhythmic waves. The French horns blow out their soft, sweet gales, like
+birds at early morn, the flutes whistle fine and clear, and the
+violins, with their tremulous, eager sweetness, seem dripping amber;
+viols and horns reply, shaking out quivering breaths to the summer
+night air, until it seems some weird, far-away world. Violet is so
+entranced that she almost forgets she is Floyd Grandon's wife, being
+made known to society.
+
+The first quadrilles are full of lovely gliding figures. Violet dances
+with her husband, then with Eugene. Floyd and Madame Lepelletier are in
+the same set. It is the first time he has danced with her since they
+were betrothed. She knows if she had stayed at home and married him,
+neither would have been the kind of people they are now, and she does
+not envy that old time, but she wants the power in her hands that she
+had then. She would not even care to give up all the years of adulation
+when rank and title were an open-sesame to golden doors, and even now
+has its prestige. There is nothing she really cares for but the love of
+this man, little as she believes in the divine power.
+
+The _fete_ is really open now. Guests stroll about and listen to the
+music, or sit on the balcony chairs and watch the dancing. By and by
+there are some soft melodious waves with no especial meaning, then the
+French horns pipe a delicious thrill, "viol, flute and bassoon" burst
+into beguiling bloom of the Zamora, and hands steal out to other hands,
+arms cling to arms, and the winding, bewildering waltz begins.
+
+Violet is talking to a young man, one of the Grandon Park neighbors,
+who stands bashfully wondering if it would do to ask her to waltz.
+Unconsciously her feet are keeping time, and her heart seems to rise
+and fall to the enchantment in the air. Then she feels a presence
+behind her and turns.
+
+"This is our waltz," Floyd Grandon says, just above a whisper, and,
+bowing to her companion, leads her away.
+
+"Shall we go out on the balcony?" he asks, and the quick pressure on
+his arm answers him. Out in the wide warm summer night, where the air
+throbs and glows with some weird enchantment, he puts his arm about her
+and draws her close; there are several irregular measures, then their
+figures and steps seem to settle to each other, and they float down the
+long space, up again, there is reversing to steady her a little, then
+on and on. He looks down at the drooping eyes with their tremulous
+lids, at the faint flush that comes and goes, he feels the throbbing
+breath, and realizes what a powerful and seductive temptation this
+might become. He is even kindled himself. For the first time he feels
+himself capable of rousing such a torrent of love in her that her whole
+soul shall be absorbed in his. Down in this shady corner, while the
+other couples are quite at the other end, he raises the sweet face,
+tranced in the beguiling melody of movement, and kisses the lips with
+all a man's passionate fervor, holds her in such a clasp that she
+struggles and throws out one hand wildly, as if suddenly stricken
+blind, and a frightened expression drowns the sweet delight.
+
+"Oh!" and she gives a little cry of pain and mystery.
+
+"My darling!"
+
+The voice is tenderly reassuring, and they float on again, but for a
+brief moment the lightness seems gone out of her feet. He draws a long,
+deep inspiration. Sweet, tender, and devoted as she is, it is not her
+time to love, and he remembers all the years between them. She is as
+innocent of the deeper depths of passion as Cecil.
+
+There is a long, long throb on the air, almost a wail of regret, from
+the human voices of the violins. The cornet seems to run off in the
+distance, and the horns have a sob in their last notes. The dancers
+stop with languid reluctance. Floyd Grandon leads his wife along as if
+he would take her down the steps, away somewhere.
+
+"Let us sit here," she cries, suddenly, and there is a curious strain
+in her voice, a thrill as of fear. Does she not dare trust herself with
+him anywhere, everywhere?
+
+"Are you tired?" he asks, with a tenderness that touches her.
+
+She still seems like one in a dream.
+
+"No," she answers. "It was enchanting. I could dance forever. I don't
+know----"
+
+Her voice falters and drops as the last notes of the music have done.
+It would be a mortal sin to awaken her. She shall dream on until the
+right time comes.
+
+"Then you liked it?" His voice has a steady, reassuring tone. "There is
+another; shall we try it again, presently?"
+
+This time it is the "Beautiful Blue Danube."
+
+"Oh, no, no!" she says, vehemently.
+
+The strains begin to float and throb again, light, airy, delicate, with
+one pathetic measure that always touches the soul. She rouses and
+listens, then the little hand creeps into his beseechingly.
+
+"Oh," she says, "may I take that back! I think I was beside myself.
+Will you waltz with me again?"
+
+It is an exquisite waltz, pure, dreamy pleasure, delicious to the last
+bar, and nothing has startled her. He watches her lovely flower-like
+face that is full of supreme content.
+
+"Now," he says, after she has rested awhile, "we must look after our
+guests. Let us take a stroll around."
+
+Nearly everybody has been waltzing. Marcia and her husband are present.
+It was quite against his desire that Floyd extended an invitation to
+Jasper Wilmarth, but he felt he could not do otherwise. He does not
+mean to be over-cordial with his brother-in-law in the matter of
+hospitalities. Wilmarth is proud of this victory, because he knows it
+cost Floyd Grandon something. He is glad, too, of an opportunity of
+becoming better acquainted with Mrs. Grandon. This does not altogether
+mean conversing with her, although he has managed several passing
+talks, but he likes to watch her, and the old thought comes into his
+mind that with a little better planning he might have won her. A
+half-suggestion of his had put the thought of Eugene Grandon in the
+mind of St. Vincent, but he well knew that Eugene would only laugh such
+a proposal to scorn. The factor he had not counted on was Floyd
+himself.
+
+Marcia is set wild with the first waltz. She is new to wifehood, and
+she stands a little in awe of Jasper Wilmarth. There are people,
+husbands, who object to it. Eugene is too late to secure madame, and
+stands looking rather bored and sulky.
+
+"Would you mind dancing it with me, just once?" says Marcia,
+pleadingly.
+
+"Of course not," he answers, indifferently.
+
+"Eugene wants me to waltz with him," she whispers to her husband; and
+he, in deep conversation with a neighbor, simply nods. There will be
+time enough for marital training when the worship becomes irksome, and
+he wants spice instead of sweet. They shall all see that Marcia has an
+indulgent husband and is not to be commiserated. But when he sees Floyd
+Grandon floating up and down with that lovely fairy-like figure in his
+arms, he hates him more bitterly than before. Irene Lepelletier and
+Jasper Wilmarth could well join hands here. The gulf between them is
+not so very wide.
+
+Marcia is up in the next waltz as well, but this time with an old
+admirer. Eugene resists the glances of Lucia Brade and makes a
+wall-flower of himself. He begins to watch Violet presently, and remark
+with what entire perfection she waltzes. Who would have suspected it in
+a little convent-bred girl? She _is_ pretty in spite of all detractions,
+Laura has discovered. How her shining hair glitters, as if sprinkled
+with diamond-dust.
+
+Cecil comes running up to her after they have promenaded around among
+the guests.
+
+"Mamma," she exclaims, "that was just as we dance. Why can't you dance
+with me here to all the pretty music!"
+
+Violet glances up to meet her husband's smile of assent. "Next time,
+Cecil," she says, slipping the little hand in hers.
+
+They do not have to wait very long. After a mazourka comes a waltz, and
+Cecil is made supremely happy.
+
+"How utterly bewitching they look!" says a low, melodious voice at
+Floyd Grandon's side. "How tall Cecil has grown in a year!"
+
+"A year!" he repeats. Yes, it is a year ago that his old life ended,
+and how much has been crowded in that brief while.
+
+"You are a wise man," madame says, in an indescribable tone. "You have
+not forced your bud into premature blossoming. There might be a decade
+between Laura and your wife."
+
+"I wonder if Laura had any real girlhood?" he remarks, musingly.
+
+"Why, yes, at fourteen, perhaps. That is the way with most of us. But
+hers, not beginning so soon, will have the longer reign. How lovely the
+river looks to-night! I should like to go down on the terrace," she
+adds, after a moment.
+
+"I am at your service," and he rises.
+
+They cross the lawn amid groups sauntering in the moonlight, keeping
+time to the music, if they do not dance. The whole scene is like
+enchantment. They stroll on and on, down the steps and then over the
+broad strip of grass. The cool air blows up along the shore, and with
+the tide coming in every ripple is crested with silver. Over at the
+edge of the horizon the stars dare to shine out amid the silence of the
+rocks and woods opposite, making a suggestive, shadowy land.
+
+"'On such a night,'" she quotes, with a smile that might beguile a
+man's soul.
+
+"We could not have had anything more beautiful. And I owe a great deal
+of the perfection of the scene to you, since the season was in other
+hands. Allow me to express my utmost gratitude."
+
+"I am glad to be able to add to your pleasure in any way," she answers,
+with a kind of careless joy. "Possibly I may add to your displeasure.
+May I make a confession?" and she smiles again.
+
+"To me?" not caring to conceal his surprise.
+
+"Yes, to you. I shall bind you by all manner of promises, but the
+murder must out."
+
+"Is it as grave as that?"
+
+"Yes. If you had not gone by the heats and caprices of youthful
+passion, you would be less able to extend your mantle of charity. I
+care enough for your good opinion and for that of your family not to be
+placed in a false light by the imprudence of youth,--shall we call it
+that?"
+
+"I cannot imagine," he begins, puzzled, and yet almost afraid to trench
+on this suspicious ground.
+
+"Can you not? Then I give the young man credit for a degree of prudence
+I was fearful he did not possess."
+
+"Oh," he says, with a curious sense of relief, "you mean--my brother?"
+
+"Floyd," in a low, confidential tone, and she so rarely gives him his
+Christian name that he is struck with her beautiful utterance of it, "I
+want you to do me this justice at least, to let me stand higher in your
+estimation than that of a mere silly coquette, who makes a bid for the
+admiration of men in general. There was a time when it might have
+turned my head a little, but then I had no _general_ admiration to
+tempt me. I have been friendly with Eugene, as any woman so much older
+might be, and the regard he has for me is not love at all, but just now
+he cannot see the difference. He feels bitter because he cannot have
+matters as he fancies he would like, and in a few years he will be most
+grateful for the cruelty, as he calls it."
+
+"Oh," Floyd says, with a sense of shame, "he certainly has not been
+foolish enough to----"
+
+"You surely do not think I would allow him to make an idiot of
+himself!" she replies, with an almost stinging disdain. "I should not
+want him to remember that of me. One may make a mistake in youth, or
+commit an error, but with added years there would be small excuse. I
+had a truer regard for him, as well as myself. It was wiser to quench
+the flame before it reached that height," and she smiles with a sense
+of approval. "So if you see us at sword's points, you will know that
+the disease has reached the crisis, and you may reasonably expect an
+improvement. Indeed, it is time he turned his attention to other
+matters. Shall you be able to make a business man of him?"
+
+"I am afraid not," replies Floyd Grandon.
+
+"Now that I have confessed, I feel quite free," she begins, in a tone
+of relief. "I wanted the matter settled before I came up here, and I
+did want to keep your good opinion, if indeed you have a good opinion
+of me."
+
+Something in her voice touches his very soul. It is entreating,
+penitent, yet loftily proud. It says, "I can do without your approval,
+since I may have forfeited it in some way, yet I would rather have it.
+You are free to give or to withhold."
+
+"I think," he says, steadily, "this is not the first time you have
+acted sensibly. I wonder if I shall offend you by a reference to those
+old days when we both made a mistake. Time has shown us the wisdom of
+not endeavoring to live up to it. Both of our lives have doubtless been
+the better, and we have proved that it makes us none the less friends."
+
+There is no agitation in voice or face. He stands here calmly beside
+the woman he was to have married, and both he and she know the regard
+has perished utterly. An hour ago he would hardly have said what he
+has. Why does he feel so free to say it now? She is superbly tranquil
+as well, but she knows him for a man who holds his honor higher than
+any earthly thing. If Violet St. Vincent had not come between, she
+might have won him, but now all the list of her fascinations cannot
+make him swerve.
+
+"I ought," he continues, scarcely heeding the momentary silence, "to
+thank you in behalf of my wife as well. You have shown us both many
+kindnesses. You have been a true friend."
+
+He never makes the slightest reference to any family disagreements or
+any lack of welcome his wife has experienced.
+
+"I should have done a great deal more if Mrs. Grandon had been less shy
+of strangers," she makes answer, quietly.
+
+They walk up and down in silence. The river ripples onward, the moon
+sails in serenest glory, the wind wafts the melody down from the wide
+verandas, and it trembles on the river, making a faint echo of return
+from the other side. They are both thinking,--Grandon of Violet, and
+madame of him. She has found few men so invincible, even among those
+very much in love. There is a certain expression in his face which she
+as a woman of the world and read in many fascinations understands; it
+is loyal admiration, for he is constrained to admire in all honesty,
+but it falls far short of that flash of overmastering feeling, so often
+mistaken for love and leading to passion, the possibility of being
+tempted. It would satisfy her vanity better to believe him incapable of
+a deep and fervent love, but she knows better. When he is touched by
+the divine fire he will respond, and she envies bitterly the woman who
+is destined thus to awaken him. Will it be Violet? She crushes her
+white teeth together at the thought, imagining that she would feel
+better satisfied to have it any other woman. But why should he not go
+on this way? Let him honor the girl whom circumstances and not election
+have given for a wife, so that in real regard he sets her no higher
+than a friend.
+
+"We must go back," she says, with a touch of regret in her voice. "One
+could stay here forever, but there are duties and duties."
+
+He turns with her and they come up the path together. Cecil and Violet
+stand on the balcony, warm, yet full of youthful gladness. Cecil has
+acquitted herself so beautifully that the two have been a centre of
+admiration, and Violet has run away from the compliments. She has been
+idly watching the two figures on the terrace, and as they come nearer
+it gives her a curious feeling that she at once tries to dismiss as
+selfish.
+
+Eugene strolls out to them. He has been on terms of friendly
+indifference with his pretty little sister-in-law, classing her with
+Cecil, but to-night he has seen her in a new character, which she
+sustains with the brilliant charm of youth, if not the dignity of
+experience. He is sore and sulky. He has not been fool enough to
+believe madame would marry him, but he would have married her any day.
+He has been infatuated with her beauty, her charms of style and manner,
+her beguiling voice; the very atmosphere that surrounded her was
+delightful to breathe in concert with her. He has haunted her afternoon
+teas and her evening receptions, he has attended her to operas, and
+sometimes lowered savagely at the train that came to pay court to her.
+Like a wary general she has put off the symptoms of assault by making
+diversions elsewhere, until the feint no longer answered its purpose.
+She would not allow him to propose, that would savor of possible hope
+and encouragement; she has spoken with the friendliness a woman can
+command. This course of devotion on his part draws attention to them
+and is ungenerous to her. "How do you know what I mean?" he has asked,
+in a tone of gloomy persistence.
+
+She gives a little laugh, suggestive of incredulity and a slight flavor
+of ridicule.
+
+"Because I know it is impossible for you to really mean anything
+derogatory to me or to yourself," she answers, in a tone of assured
+steadiness. "If I were a young girl it might be love or flirtation; if
+I were a coquette it might be an evil fascination such as too often
+wrecks young men. As I do not choose it shall be any of these, you must
+not grow sentimental with me."
+
+She looks at him out of clear eyes that _are_ maddening, and yet he
+cannot but read his fate in them. It is thus far and no farther.
+
+"Oh," he answers, with a touch of scorn, "I think I have read of
+marriages with as great disparity of years as between us! It is
+supposed they loved, they certainly have been happy."
+
+"But I am not in my dotage," she cries, gayly. "Neither am I such a
+wonderful believer in love. There are many other qualities requisite
+for what I call a good marriage."
+
+"I do not suppose I shall ever make a _good_ marriage," he says,
+calmly, but with bitter emphasis.
+
+"And yet you ought. You are handsome, attractive, you can make a
+fortune if you will; you can grace any society."
+
+"Spare me," he replies, with contempt. "My impression is, that I shall
+never have faith enough in any woman to marry her."
+
+"Oh, that is so deliciously young, Eugene! It ought to be applauded."
+And she laughs lightly.
+
+"Good morning," he says, in a furious temper.
+
+He has not been near her since, and chooses to absent himself on a
+business trip the first three days she spends at Grandon Park, coming
+home last evening, and meeting her at the breakfast-table this morning,
+where she has tact enough to cover all differences. He has not danced
+with her, though they have met in the quadrilles, and he is moody and
+resentful, although he knows that she is right. But he puts it on the
+score of money. "If I were the owner of Grandon Park," he thinks, "she
+would not so much mind the years between."
+
+Therein he is mistaken. It would hurt Irene Lepelletier's _amour
+propre_ to make herself conspicuous, to be held up to ridicule or
+blame. She does not _care_ for marriage; her position is infinitely
+more delightful in its variety. She can make a world of her own without
+being accountable to any one, but she has come perilously near to
+loving Floyd Grandon, when she considered love no longer a temptation,
+had dismissed it as a puerile insanity of youth.
+
+Eugene catches sight of the two promenaders. Almost beside them now are
+Miss Brade and Mr. Latimer. There is nothing in it, and yet it stirs
+his jealousy. Laura has always been so sure that Violet alone
+interrupted a marriage between them, and in this cruel pang he is
+grateful to Violet, and glad, yes, exultingly glad that madame never
+can be mistress here. There is one check for her, even if she triumphs
+in all things else.
+
+"What an exquisite dancer you are," he says to Violet. "I never
+imagined you could learn anything like that in a convent."
+
+"I don't think you learn _quite_ like it," she says, with a soft little
+ripple. "I never danced so before; it is enchantment. And I never
+waltzed with a gentleman until to-night, except to take a few steps
+with my teacher."
+
+"You like it?" He is amused by the enthusiasm of her tone.
+
+"Oh," she confesses, with a long sigh, "it is rapturous! I am so fond
+of dancing. I wonder, do _you_ think it frivolous?" and she glances up
+with a charming deprecation.
+
+She _is_ very pretty. It must be her dress that makes her so uncommonly
+lovely to-night, he fancies, but it is all things,--her youth, her joy,
+her sweet satisfaction.
+
+"Why, no, not frivolous. It is--well, I don't know how society would
+get along without it," and he gives a short, grim laugh. "We could not
+have balls or parties or Germans,--nothing but dinners and teas and
+musicales and stupid receptions. And there wouldn't be anything for
+young people to do; the old tabbies, you know, can gossip about their
+neighbors, and the men can smoke."
+
+"It is all so wonderfully beautiful!" she begins, dreamily. "The lawn
+is a perfect fairyland, and I never saw so many lovely dresses and
+handsome people together in my life. And the music----"
+
+The strains floating in the air are quite enough to bewilder one, to
+steep him in delicious reveries, to transport him to Araby the blest.
+
+"Will you waltz once with me?" he asks, suddenly, taking her hand.
+
+"_Ought_ I?" she inquires, innocently. "You see I do not quite
+understand----"
+
+"No," he answers, "I will take a galop instead, but it is all right
+enough. Floyd wouldn't care, I know."
+
+He has a jealous misgiving that Floyd will waltz with madame if Violet
+thus sets him an example.
+
+The galop begins presently. Floyd is busy with the duties of host, and
+supper is soon to be announced. Madame dances superbly, but neither of
+them are up now, except that just at the last Floyd takes a few turns
+with Cecil, whose time of revelry is now ended.
+
+Eugene takes Violet in to supper; not exactly as Floyd has planned, but
+as she desires. Her next neighbor is very bright and entertaining, and
+Eugene really does his best. Between them both Mrs. Grandon is vivacious,
+sparkling, and radiant with the charms of youth and pleasure. Eugene is
+quite resolved to show madame that he has not been hard hit, and even
+devotes himself awhile to Lucia Brade, who is supremely happy. There is
+more dancing, and Violet and Floyd have another lovely waltz. So with
+walking and talking and lounging on balcony and lawn, listening to the
+delicious music, the revel comes to an end.
+
+"You have been very happy?" Floyd Grandon says to his wife.
+
+"It has been perfect," she makes answer. "I could ask nothing more,
+nothing."
+
+He kisses her with a little sigh. Is there something more, and does he
+long for it?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+"Love and hay are thick sown, but come up full of thistles."
+
+
+Mrs. Floyd Grandon is considered fairly in society, and the world
+decides there is nothing detrimental about her. She is admitted to be
+pretty, she is well-bred, with some little touches of formalism, due to
+her training, that are really refreshing to elderly people, and sit
+quaintly upon her. She is charming, both when her natural vivacity
+crops out, that has been so repressed, and when she is shyly diffident.
+Cards and invitations are left for her, and Grandon Park blossoms out
+into unwonted gayety. The people who go away find no difficulty in
+renting their houses to those who want to come; perhaps the Latimers
+have given the impetus, for Mrs. Latimer is one of those women who are
+always quoted, without having any special desire to achieve a society
+reputation. The cottage frequently has some visitors of note: its
+smallness renders large companies impossible.
+
+There is the usual lawn tennis, and croquet, which is rather falling
+into desuetude, but still affords unequalled opportunities for
+flirtation. There is boating, and the river looks quite gay with boats
+with striped and colored awnings to protect the fair ones from the sun.
+Grandon and Latimer are famous oarsmen, and often gather an admiring
+audience which gets greatly excited over the victorious champion,
+though honors keep evenly divided. Then there are garden parties and
+musical evenings, so there is no lack of amusement.
+
+Violet has become quite an expert driver, and she and her pretty
+step-daughter, who keep up their adoration of each other, make a lovely
+picture in the basket phaeton. She rides on horseback very well, and
+here Eugene is always at her service. In fact, though he never _quite_
+confesses it, he lets her fancy that he is an unfortunate moth who has
+been drawn into the flame when he would not have flown of his own
+account and desire. He is the kind of masculine who must always be dear
+to _some_ woman, who floats on the strongest current of fascination or
+sympathy. It has been the former, it is now the latter. The many frank
+allurements of youth in Violet charm him insensibly. She has a secret
+sympathy and a curious misgiving that she cannot overcome,--it grows
+upon her, indeed,--that Madame Lepelletier is dangerous to man and
+woman.
+
+Had madame more personal vanity in her conquests, she might feel piqued
+at the defection of her knight, who has not wavered in his allegiance
+for the last year. She is rather pleased than otherwise, she even
+breathes little bits of encouragement and commendation to Violet, as
+if seconding her efforts; and Violet falls into the mistake that many
+have made before her, of comforting a young man and assisting him to
+overlive his fancy for another woman, as well as secretly blaming the
+other. Eugene is so fond of shifting burthens upon other people.
+
+Laura and Mr. Delancy go abroad. Mrs. Grandon accepts several
+invitations for summer visits. She is less the head of the house now
+that her daughters are married and away, but she does not abate one jot
+of her dignity, and is secretly mortified to see Eugene so ready to
+treat with the enemy, as she still considers her.
+
+Mrs. Jasper Wilmarth is at the summit of delighted vanity. They cannot
+compete with Grandon Park, but they have taken a rambling old country
+house on the outskirts of Westbrook, and Marcia has certainly managed
+to accumulate no end of bizarre articles. The rooms are large and the
+ceilings low; there are corner fireplaces and high mantels, there are
+curtains and portieres and lambrequins, there are pictures and brackets
+and cabinets, easels with their "studies," and much _bric-a-brac_.
+Jasper Wilmarth insists that the sleeping chamber and sitting-room
+shall be kept free from this "nonsense," as he calls it, and does not
+meddle his head about the rest. Indeed, he rather smiles to himself to
+see of what consequence his name has made her. He does not even object
+to being considered a hero of romance in her estimation, knowing her
+sieve-like nature, and that whatever is in must drip through somewhere.
+She adores him, she waits on him with a curious humility that is very
+flattering, while to the rest of the world she puts on rather lofty
+airs. They amuse him, and he sees with much inward scorn the respect
+paid her--for what, indeed? Was she not as wise and as attractive six
+mouths ago? Yet he means she shall have the respect and the honor. He
+will not be the rich man that he once dreamed of, but he has enough to
+afford her many indulgences. So when she makes a rather timid
+proposition for a party of some kind, he listens with attention as she
+skips over the ground and makes a jumble of festivities.
+
+"I should choose the garden party," he says, briefly, for in his mind
+he considers it the prettiest for the expense and the most enjoyable.
+There is no velvet lawn, but there is the remnant of an orchard, and
+the old trees are still picturesque. They need not have the fuss of a
+regular supper, but refreshments out of doors, with quartet tables, for
+the evening will be warm and moonlight.
+
+Marcia is delighted. The pony phaeton flies around briskly, and
+invitations are accepted on nearly every hand. Floyd Grandon would much
+prefer to decline, but he cannot, without seeming churlish, and Violet
+takes it as a matter of course.
+
+Is it a special Providence that interferes? That very morning an
+important telegram comes, and some one must go to Baltimore. It is not
+a matter he cares to have Wilmarth settle, and Eugene is not to be
+relied upon. He could take Violet, but it would look absurd this hot
+weather, and on such a hurried journey, when he has not hesitated to go
+alone before. Why should he be so reluctant to leave her, he wonders.
+
+"It's just shabby!" declares Eugene. "Wait until to-morrow. Marcia will
+feel dreadfully put out if you are not there to-night."
+
+"To-morrow would make it too late to see one of the parties, who is to
+go abroad." And he knits his brows.
+
+"Well," says Eugene, "I'll take care of Violet to-night, though I can't
+hope to fill your place. But--I say, Floyd, do you mind if she waltzes
+with me?"
+
+"Not if she cares to," is the answer, in a tone of reluctance that is
+quite lost upon the younger. He realizes that he has hardly courage for
+a direct prohibition when Eugene has just begun to show himself
+brotherly.
+
+Violet is out driving with Cecil. He hurries up to the Latimers'. She
+has been there and gone, and there is no more time if he catches his
+train, and not to do it might be to lose immeasurably. But to go
+without a good-by to her or Cecil, and the old thought, the ghost that
+haunts every untoward parting, if he should never see them again,
+unmans him for an instant. What folly! Why, he is growing as fearful as
+a young lover.
+
+He writes a brief farewell in pencil, and lays it on her table. She
+shall decide about the party herself, but he longs for a kiss, for one
+look into her lovely, untroubled eyes.
+
+Violet does not return until luncheon is on the table. Eugene is
+looking out for her.
+
+"Floyd had to go," he begins. "There was some important business, and
+he had to make a Baltimore connection, but he scoured the town to find
+you, and was awfully sorry."
+
+It does not occur to Violet that there is anything unusual in his
+sudden departure, since it is not the first time he has gone with a
+very brief announcement. A thrill of satisfaction speeds through her at
+the thought of his wishing to find her, and she is truly very sorry
+that he should miss anything of the slightest consequence to him.
+
+"I ought not have stayed," she says, with tender regret. "But I
+remembered I had promised to call on Miss Kirkbride, and I wanted to
+before I met her to-night. Oh----" and she pauses in vague questioning.
+
+"That is all right. Floyd engaged me for your loyal knight and true,"
+announces Eugene, in a confident tone, bowing ludicrously low.
+
+Violet laughs, then a faint pink is added to the color in her cheek. It
+is like her husband's thoughtful ways.
+
+"I am not sure I ought to go. Why, I have never been out without Mr.
+Grandon," she says, in alarm.
+
+"Well, he has often been out without you," returns Eugene, with what he
+considers comforting frankness. "And then--it wouldn't do at all, you
+see. Mother is away, and there is not a single member of the family to
+do honor to Marcia, for if you remained at home I should stay to keep
+you company. And Marcia made a great point of our coming."
+
+She has been pulling off her gloves, and now goes slowly up-stairs.
+Cecil has run on before and Jane is busy with her, but she calls
+eagerly as Violet passes through the hall. There lays the note on her
+table, a fond farewell to her and Cecil, a kiss to each, and regrets
+that he must go in such haste, but not a word about the party.
+
+"I am all ready first," announces Cecil, coming in, attired in a fresh
+white dress.
+
+"Yes, my darling. That is from papa," as she stoops and kisses her,
+"who has had to go away without a bit of good-by."
+
+Cecil questions as to where he is gone, and why he went, and why he did
+not stay until after luncheon; and Violet explains patiently, recalling
+past times when the child has been almost inconsolable. She is so
+solaced by her message that she does not think of any other side.
+
+Still, she is not quite satisfied to go without him to so large a
+gathering, and brings up half a dozen pretty reasons that Eugene
+combats and demolishes.
+
+"And there will be dancing," she says.
+
+"It would be stupid if there were not," the young man replies. "Such
+people as the Latimers and the Mavericks can talk forever, but Marcia
+hardly keeps up to concert pitch in a long harangue, and Wilmarth is
+not altogether a society man, though I must say he does uncommonly well
+as a benedict. And you can waltz, too. Floyd actually bestowed the
+privilege upon me," and he gives a light, flute-like laugh. Certainly
+when Eugene Grandon pleases he can bring out many delightful graces.
+
+A little pang goes to her soul. Floyd Grandon has never been exclusive
+or in any sense jealous. Indeed, he has had such scant cause, but she
+wishes secretly that he had not been so ready to give away that
+enjoyment, and resolves that she will not waltz with Eugene.
+
+"Come out and lie in the hammock," he says, after lunch. "It is shady,
+and there is a lovely breeze; you must take a siesta to look fresh and
+charming, and do honor to the Grandon name. How odd that there are only
+us two!" and he gives an amusing smile. "What a marrying off there has
+been since Floyd came home! Four brides in a year ought to be glory
+enough for one family."
+
+Eugene should, by right, go over to the factory and answer a pile of
+letters, but instead, he throws himself on the grass, with an afghan
+under his head, and falls fast asleep. Violet drowses in her hammock
+and dreams away the happy hours. Only a little year ago. It runs
+through her mind like the lapping of the waves in the river.
+
+They are a little late in reaching Mrs. Wilmarth's. It is an extremely
+picturesque sight, with seats rustic and bamboo, urns and stands of
+flowers, and moving figures in soft colors of flowing drapery. Some one
+is singing, and the sound floats outward to mingle with the summer air.
+
+"Marcia certainly deserves credit," declares Eugene. "She is in her
+glory. She always did love to manage, and maybe she tries her arts upon
+Vulcan,--who knows."
+
+"Mr. Wilmarth looks happy," says Violet, with gentle insistence.
+
+"I suppose he is,--happy enough. But the marriage always has been a
+tremendous mystery to me. I should as soon have thought of the sky
+falling as Jasper Wilmarth marrying, and that he should take Marcia
+caps it all. I give it up," declares the young man.
+
+"But Marcia is--I mean she has many nice ways," remarks Violet, as if
+deprecating harsher criticism.
+
+"Well, for those who like her ways."
+
+"You are not quite----" and Violet pauses.
+
+"Generous or enthusiastic or any of the other womanish adjectives."
+Eugene pauses, for Marcia comes to meet them and Mr. Wilmarth stands on
+the porch.
+
+"Well, you _have_ made your appearance at last!" begins Marcia, with an
+emphasis rendered more decisive from a remark uttered by her husband a
+few moments before.
+
+"Yes, but you can be thankful that you have us at all," says Eugene, in
+a tone of lazy insolence. "We only came as representatives of the great
+family name whose dignity we are compelled to uphold in the absence of
+the august head of the house."
+
+Jasper Wilmarth hears this and would like to knock down the young man.
+
+"Where is Floyd?" asks Marcia, sharply.
+
+"Gone to Europe," says Eugene, with charming mendacity.
+
+"Oh," cries Violet, in consternation, "not Europe! It is Baltimore."
+And fearing Marcia will be hurt she adds quickly, "It was very
+important business."
+
+"Well, some one else went or is going to Europe. He was in a panic for
+fear of missing a connection. And he left loads of regrets, didn't he,
+Violet?"
+
+"He left all that word with you," replies the young wife, wondering in
+her secret soul if Floyd really meant her to come and why he did not
+speak of it in the note.
+
+They are in the hall by this time. Eugene nods coolly to Wilmarth, and
+Violet speaks with a curious inflection, her thoughts are elsewhere,
+but Wilmarth's steel-gray eyes remark that without reading the motive.
+
+"Where has your brother gone?" he asks of Eugene. "I was not aware of
+any urgent business when I saw him this morning."
+
+"I dare say it is his own affairs. Some ruin-hunter is no doubt going
+to the East, and he wants to send for an old coin or a bit of stone
+with an inscription, or the missing link," and the young man laughs
+indolently.
+
+Marcia is going up-stairs with Violet. "I think Floyd might have put
+off his journey until to-morrow," she says, in an offended tone. "He
+did not come to the dinner, either. Perhaps he thinks we are _not_ good
+enough, grand enough. You are quite sure you have not come against his
+wishes?"
+
+Violet starts at this tirade, and if she had more courage would put on
+her hat again and walk out of the house.
+
+"I am very sorry," she begins, but some one enters the dressing-room
+and she goes down presently to be warmly welcomed by several of the
+guests. Eugene constitutes himself her knight, and she feels very
+grateful. It is so strange to go in company without her husband; she
+can roam about the woods or drive her pony carriage and not feel
+lonely, but it seems quite solitary here, although she has met most of
+the people.
+
+Eugene takes her arm and escorts her about. They are a charming young
+couple in their youth and beauty, and more than one person discerns the
+fitness. The business, too, would be of so much more account to Eugene,
+and he is in most need of a fortune. Jasper Wilmarth wonders if a time
+of regret will come to him.
+
+Wafts of music float out on the summer night air. There is some dancing
+and much promenading. Marcia has a surprise in store, a series of
+tableaux arranged out of doors, with a pale rose light that renders
+them extremely effective, and they are warmly applauded. The guests sit
+at the tables and enjoy creams, ices, and salads: it is the perfection
+of a garden party. Marcia is in rather aesthetic attire, but it is
+becoming, and she is brimful of delight, though she wishes Floyd were
+here to see. She has a misgiving that he does not mean to rate Jasper
+Wilmarth very highly, and her wifely devotion resents it, for she is
+devoted. Jasper Wilmarth is both pleased and interested in the puppet
+he can move hither and thither to his liking, and occasionally to his
+service. He is gratified to see her party a success, though somewhat
+annoyed at the defection of his brother-in-law, who so far has not been
+his guest. He is piqued, too, about the sudden journey, and remembers
+now that a telegram came for him this morning. There is no business
+connection in Baltimore that need be made a secret, unless it is some
+secret of his own.
+
+"There," exclaims Eugene, "a waltz at length! I began to think the ogre
+had forbidden so improper a proceeding. Now you are to waltz with me."
+And he rises, with her hand in his, but Violet keeps her seat.
+
+"Why is waltzing considered improper?" she asks, slowly.
+
+"Upon my life I don't know, unless, like the woman, you have to draw
+the line somewhere, and it is drawn at your relations or your husband.
+I have it--bright thought--it is to give _them_ some especial
+privileges that will rouse the envy of the rest of the world. For
+myself I think it a humbug. There are other dances quite as
+reprehensible when you come to that, but I've never come to harm in
+any," and he laughs. "And as for flirting, there are devices many and
+various; when you reach that point, Madame Lepelletier can do more with
+her eyes than any dozen girls I know could with their feet. Come."
+
+"I think--I do not feel like it," replies Violet.
+
+"Oh, don't wear the willow!" advises the young man. "You have just been
+up in one quadrille, and people will notice it. Besides, I was very
+particular to respect any lingering prejudice my august brother might
+have had."
+
+"And he said you were to waltz with me?"
+
+"Oh," he rejoins, in a kind of hurt tone, "you really do not suppose I
+would tell you a falsehood in this matter! I really do want to waltz
+with you, but I shouldn't descend to any such smallness as that."
+
+She is touched by his air and disappointment.
+
+"Well," she answers, reluctantly.
+
+Just then madame floats by them. Violet rises, and they go gracefully
+down in the widening circles. Eugene waltzes to perfection. A few young
+girls look on with envious eyes, and something about Lucia Brade's face
+appeals to Violet. She _does_ carry her heart on her sleeve, and has
+always been fond of Eugene Grandon.
+
+"Let us stop," entreats Violet.
+
+"Why, we were just going so perfectly! It was like a dream. How
+beautifully you do waltz! What is the matter?"
+
+All this is uttered in a breath.
+
+"I want you to go waltz with Miss Brade," says Violet. "She looks so
+lonely talking to that old Mr. Carpenter."
+
+"Nonsense." And he tries to swing her into line.
+
+"No; I do not feel as if I had any business with the young men," says
+Violet, rather promptly, standing her ground with resolution.
+
+"See here," exclaims Eugene, suddenly, "if I waltz with her, will you
+give me another somewhere? If you won't, I shall not dance another step
+to-night," and he shakes his black curls defiantly.
+
+That means he will keep close to her as a shadow, and she wishes he
+would not.
+
+"Yes," she answers, "if you will do your duty you shall be rewarded."
+
+"Be good and you will be happy," he quotes.
+
+"Take _me_ over to Mr. Carpenter."
+
+"He will prose you to death. See, there is Mrs. Carpenter waltzing with
+Fred Kirkbride. That is the way young and pretty second wives enjoy
+themselves," says this candid young man.
+
+Lucia Brade goes off supremely happy. Violet watches them from her
+rustic seat. She has been a little amazed at Lucia's evident
+preference, so plainly shown. Mr. Carpenter only needs a listener to
+render him supremely happy in his monologues, so Violet can follow her
+own thoughts.
+
+She is wondering why she feels so lost and lonely in this bright scene,
+and why the waltz did not enchant her! Where is Mr. Grandon--drowsing
+in a railway car? If he were here! The very thought thrills her. Yes,
+it _is_ her husband she misses,--not quite as she used to miss him,
+either. He has grown so much more to her, he fills all the spaces of
+her life. He may be absent bodily, but he is in her soul, he has
+possession of her very being. Is this love?
+
+A strange thrill runs over her. The lights, the dancing, the talk
+beside her, might all be leagues away. She is penetrated, possessed by
+a blissful knowledge, something deeper, finer, keener than she has ever
+dreamed, not simply the reverence and obedience of the marriage vow
+that she has supposed included all. And then comes another searching
+question,--how much of just this kind of love has Floyd Grandon for
+her?
+
+The waltz has ended, and the lanciers begun. She will not dance that,
+but sends Eugene in quest of another partner, at which he grumbles. The
+Latimers are not here,--a sick baby has prevented,--though now Violet
+begins to feel quite at home with many of the dwellers in the park and
+about. Even madame searches her out presently.
+
+"My dear child," she says, in that soft, suave tone, "are you not well
+this evening? You are such a little recluse."
+
+"Quite well." And the brilliant face answers for her.
+
+"Then you are not enjoying yourself. You young people ought to be up in
+every set."
+
+"I did dance. But I like to look on. The figures are so graceful, and
+the music is bewitching."
+
+"It seems unnatural for one of your age to be merely a spectator. How
+lovely Eugene and Mrs. Carpenter look together! She is just about your
+size and dances with the _verve_ of youth, which I admire extremely.
+Gravity at that age always seems far-fetched, put on as a sort of
+garment to hide something not quite frank or open, but it never can
+conceal the fact that it covers thoughts foreign to youth."
+
+Violet wonders if she has been unduly grave this evening. She _has_
+something to conceal, a sweet, sacred secret that only one person may
+inquire into. Will he, some day? He has never yet asked her the lover's
+question to which it would be so sweet to reply.
+
+"There," exclaims Eugene, sitting down beside her, "I have done my
+duty. The very next waltz, remember."
+
+The last is in a whisper, and it brings the bright color to her face,
+brighter because madame's eyes are upon her; but fortunately for her
+peace, madame is wanted.
+
+"Do you know," says Eugene, "I am very glad you married Floyd, for I
+_do_ think it would have ended by his taking her; not that he cared
+particularly, and the queer thing was that Cecil would not make friends
+with her; but she is the kind of woman who generally gets everything
+she tries for. And I do believe she envies you your home and your
+husband."
+
+"Oh!" cries Violet, much abashed, "do not say so. It seems to me there
+is nothing that she can envy or desire."
+
+"Don't believe the half of that, little innocent! Oh, listen, this
+measure is perfection! Come."
+
+She rises, for she cannot endure sitting here and discussing madame,
+and they all take so much for granted between her and Mr. Grandon.
+
+The waltz is lovely out here in the summer moonlight. She forgets her
+discomfort in it, and is very happy; but when it ends she feels that
+her duty is done, that she would like to go home, and mentions her
+desire to Eugene.
+
+"Why, yes, if you like," he answers. "If it had not been for you the
+whole thing would have bored me intolerably. Floyd may thank his stars
+for an excuse to keep away."
+
+They make their adieus to host and hostess. Marcia tosses her head with
+a curt farewell.
+
+But it has been a success. Doubtless many of the guests came from
+curiosity; but Mrs. Wilmarth is delighted to have had what would have
+been an enormous crush inside, and much elated to have it praised on
+every hand.
+
+"But what idiots Violet and Eugene made of themselves," she says, in
+the privacy of her own room, when all is quiet and the old orchard is
+left to the weird dancing shadows of the moonlight, while the insect
+voices of the night keep up an accompaniment.
+
+"Did they? I thought he was unusually modest and chary of his numerous
+graces," returns Jasper Wilmarth, with his usual sneer, which is nearly
+always lost upon Marcia, who has settled it as belonging to his way and
+not meaning anything.
+
+"That is just what I complain of. They walked round or sat under trees
+like a couple of spooning lovers. I believe they did waltz once; and
+Violet did nothing but dance the night of her ball."
+
+"I wonder," Jasper Wilmarth says, slowly, "if Eugene does not, or will
+not regret giving up the St. Vincent fortune."
+
+"Giving up the fortune!" Marcia turns straight around, with a
+resemblance to Medusa, since her short, uneven hair stands out every
+way with the vigorous use of her magnetic brush. "How could he have had
+the St. Vincent fortune?"
+
+Wilmarth is surprised. Is it possible that Marcia does not know? Have
+these two men kept the secret from the family?
+
+"Why of course you are aware that it was offered to Eugene!" he
+answers, composedly.
+
+"No, I am not," she replies, shortly. "Was it to marry Violet?"
+
+He nods. "Yes, she seemed to go begging for a husband. I had the chance
+first, but I really fancied she was not more than fourteen or so, and I
+must wait for her to grow up. But St. Vincent was in a hurry, for I
+suppose he knew his days were numbered, and when Eugene declined--well,
+no doubt he offered her and her fortune to your brother Floyd, who was
+more shrewd than either of us."
+
+Marcia drops in an easy-chair, quite astounded. It is true, the secret
+has been kept from her. Eugene had the grace to swear Laura and madame
+to secrecy; and Marcia not being at home when Mrs. Grandon became
+possessor of it, a little fear of Floyd kept her from confiding it to
+this untrustworthy member of the family.
+
+"And you would have married her?" cries Marcia, jealously.
+
+"The fortune might have tempted me. I will not pretend to a higher
+state of grace than your brother, and you know up to that time you had
+taken no pains to render yourself attractive to me. See how soon I
+succumbed."
+
+"You delightful old Vulcan!" And Marcia flies across the room to shower
+kisses on her husband, convinced that she might have had him long
+before if she had only smiled upon him.
+
+"What a cheat Floyd was!" she declares, "making believe he fell in love
+with Violet because she saved Cecil. But--the fortune was not certain?"
+
+"I should have made it certain as well as your brother," says Wilmarth.
+"But if Eugene repents and falls in love with the pretty little thing,
+there will be a nice row."
+
+"And it does look like it," declares Marcia, who is delighted to ferret
+out unorthodox loves. "I mean to watch them."
+
+"Do no such thing," he commands. "Eugene will not be very hard hit, and
+your brother is quite capable of taking care of his wife. They are like
+two children, but it _is_ a pity Eugene had not been wiser. If your
+brother had only waited until Eugene had met Miss St. Vincent. The
+hurry in this matter always did surprise me a little. But I forbid you
+ever breathing a word to your brother. You see what a foolish husband I
+am to trust you with secrets," and he laughs.
+
+"No, you are not foolish. Of course I should never speak of it to
+Floyd," she says, reflectively. She would never have the courage.
+
+"Well, that is all right," patronizingly. "I dare say the rest know it.
+It was because you were not in their confidence."
+
+That remark nettles Marcia, and she secretly resolves to find out, as
+Jasper Wilmarth is quite certain that she will. He has spoken of this
+with a purpose, not simply in foolish marital confidence. He believes
+Violet Grandon is very much in love with her husband, and he does not
+care who gives her the stab. It is this adoration that adds fuel to his
+hatred of Floyd Grandon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+Men comfort each other more easily on their Ararat, than women in their
+vales of Tempe.--JEAN PAUL.
+
+
+Wilmarth learns nothing from Eugene the next day, from the simple fact
+that the young man neither knows nor cares what took Floyd off so
+suddenly. Wilmarth has a slight clew in the departure of some person
+for Europe, and he is quite sure that it relates to the sale of the
+factory, but in this matter Floyd Grandon, as executor of both parties,
+is not compelled to discuss the plans long beforehand with him. Floyd
+does not like the business any better, and Eugene is quite indifferent
+to it. There is not the slightest prospect of his being able to take
+the head of the management, and he was certain of that a year ago. He
+has not been blind to the young man's infatuation for Madame
+Lepelletier, and he secretly hopes now that it will be transferred to
+Mrs. Grandon. Certainly such dissipations are much less expensive than
+fast horses and champagne suppers. As for himself, he sees that he must
+go as circumstances dictate. He will make some money, but he can never
+be master here, with his name up in plain solid gilt letters over the
+entrance, as he once allowed himself to dream. He can strike back a few
+blows to the man who has interfered with his ambitious projects and
+understood them to some extent, how far he cannot decide. He is
+secretly amused at Marcia's warm partisanship, and cautiously feeds the
+fire he has kindled.
+
+Violet makes herself contented for the next two days in a kind of
+dreamy fashion, when a note comes from her husband, iterating his
+regret at not saying good by, and hoping Marcia's party proved a
+pleasure.
+
+"I shall tell him it did not," she says, rather dolefully, to herself,
+"but it was not Marcia's fault. Everything was charming and
+picturesque."
+
+"Do you know," asks Eugene, at dinner, "that we are invited to the
+Dyckmans' this evening."
+
+"I _had_ forgotten it, and I ought to have sent regrets. But you will
+go?" and she glances up with animation.
+
+"It will be no end of a bore without you."
+
+"How long since my presence has added such a charm to festive occasions?"
+she asks, saucily.
+
+"Well, I ought to stay at home with you," he answers, reflectively.
+
+"I am not afraid. The servants will be here."
+
+"I don't want to go," he returns, candidly. "I would much sooner remain
+at home."
+
+"I wonder," Violet says, "why you have taken such a fancy to me? Is it
+because you think Madame Lepelletier treated you badly? After all, you
+ought to have known----" and she pauses, with a furtive glance at
+Cecil, who is deep in the delights of chocolate ice. "You were so much
+younger."
+
+"I have been a fool," says the young man, candidly. "But you need not
+take her part. If you could have seen the way she dropped down upon us
+last summer, the swift dazzle she made everywhere! I had to drive her
+out and play the agreeable, for Floyd couldn't stir without Cecil, and
+he was full of business beside. Then she never seemed much older
+than--why, Gertrude was ages older than either of us. So she smiled and
+smiled, and I was an idiot. She was always asking me to come, and the
+truth is, she is a handsome and fascinating woman, and will have
+adoration. Look at Ward Dyckman. He is only twenty-six, and he is wild
+about her, but he has piles of money." And Eugene sighs--for the money.
+
+"Yet she never seems to _do_ anything," reflects Violet.
+
+"To _do_ would be vulgar and would not fascinate well-bred people. It
+is in her eyes, in her voice, in the very atmosphere about her, and she
+_is_ wonderfully beautiful. She isn't the spider, she does not spin a
+net, but she looks at the mouse out of great, soft eyes, and he comes
+nearer, nearer, and she plays with him, until he is dull and maimed and
+tiresome, when she gently pushes him away, and is done with him."
+
+Violet shivers. How strange that Mr. Floyd Grandon should not have
+yielded to her fascination!
+
+"There, let her go," says Eugene, loftily. "And since I don't care to
+see her to-night, nor the two cream-and-sugar Dyckman girls,
+nor--anybody, we will stay at home."
+
+Violet makes no further protest. Cecil is sleepy, and begs to go to
+bed, so Violet plays and sings, and they talk out on the porch in the
+soft summer night. Eugene indulges in some romantic views, slipping now
+and then into affected cynicism, out of which Violet gently draws him.
+He is so much nicer than she used to think him. And, indeed, now that
+Marcia is gone, there is none of that shameful bickering. She almost
+wishes Mrs. Grandon _mere_ could remain away indefinitely; they would
+all be quietly happy.
+
+At the Dyckmans' they discuss the Grandon defection. Laura Dyckman
+thinks Eugene Grandon such a "divine dancer," and to-night young men
+are at a premium, though there are some distinguished older ones who do
+not dance.
+
+The next morning Marcia passes Violet and Eugene driving leisurely
+along. They have had a charming call at the Latimers', and Violet's
+face is bright and full of vivacity. She bows to them with the utmost
+dignity, and goes on her way to madame's, whom she finally beguiles out
+in her pony carriage.
+
+Madame has been extremely complimentary about the garden party, the
+freshness and unique manner in which it was arranged, and the pretty
+serving. She heard it again at the Dyckmans', and is now far up the
+pinnacle of self-complacency.
+
+"I met Eugene and Floyd's wife dawdling along on the road," says
+Marcia, presently. "I meant to call and see why he was not out last
+night, but I suppose he had to stay at home and comfort her. I _do_
+hope Eugene isn't going to make a dolt of himself, and I am sure Violet
+is as fond of admiration as any one. She was always hanging after the
+professor until he was positively engaged to Gertrude."
+
+"I think Mr. Floyd Grandon is very fond of having his wife admired,"
+says madame, in her sweet, suave tone. "She is such a mere child, after
+all, and fond of attention. And the sad death of her father, with her
+mourning, has rather kept her in the background until recently."
+
+"Well, _one_ ought to be enough," returns Marcia, with asperity. "Floyd
+should display a little good sense, if she has none."
+
+"He is not a jealous husband," and the accompanying smile is
+judiciously serene.
+
+"Jealous? Well, there is really nothing for him to be jealous about; a
+man not in love seldom is jealous."
+
+"Not in love?" Madame glances up with subtle, innocent questioning,
+just raising her brows with the faintest tint of incredulity.
+
+"Oh," says Marcia, with the airy toss of her head, "it was _not_ a
+love-match, although there was so much talk of Violet's heroism, and
+all that. And I wonder at Floyd, who could have done so much better,
+taking her after she had been handed round, as one might say, fairly
+gone begging for a husband!"
+
+"O Mrs. Wilmarth, not so bad as that!" and madame smiles with seductive
+encouragement.
+
+Marcia is dying to retail her news. If her mother were at hand; but
+there is no one of her very own, so madame must answer.
+
+"Well," she says, in a low, confidential tone, "Mr. St. Vincent was
+extremely anxious to have her married. He actually sounded Mr.
+Wilmarth," and she gives a shrill little laugh of disdain, "and then he
+offered her to Eugene."
+
+"I think myself it would have been an excellent match for Eugene," says
+madame, with motherly kindness in her tone. "That was last summer. I
+should have counselled him to accept if I had been a sister. It does
+not seem so strange to me. Marriages are always arranged in France."
+
+Marcia is struck with amazement, nay, more, a touch of mortification.
+Can it be possible that the family have known this since last summer,
+and she alone has been shut out?
+
+"We Americans are in the habit of choosing our own husbands," she
+begins, after a pause.
+
+"Yet you see how admirably this would have worked. The business was
+left to Eugene, and if he had accepted Mr. St. Vincent's daughter he
+would have had another share, and the right to control the patent. Your
+brother cares nothing about the business interests further than they
+concern the family prosperity, though no doubt he is glad to have his
+wife an heiress. Men seldom object to money."
+
+Marcia sees it all in that light, for she is not dull, and she is also
+stirred with a sharp pang of jealousy. If Jasper Wilmarth had known
+more about her,--he _is_ ambitious, and to control the factory would be
+a great delight to him. With it all she turns her anger upon the
+innocent Violet.
+
+"I don't believe Floyd really cared for her money," she says, in an
+unconvinced tone. "I think he was drawn into it, and she is very ready
+to--to accept everything that comes in her way."
+
+"Remember that Eugene and she are much nearer in age. I dare say the
+professor seemed quite like a father to her, and your brother is so
+grave and scholarly that it is natural to turn to some one young and
+bright. It seemed to me a great misfortune, and if Eugene had been on
+the spot I fancy matters would have gone differently. But we really
+must not gossip about them. They are very happy."
+
+They go on down through the park, and meet acquaintances driving along
+the boulevard. Eugene and Violet do not choose this well-known way, but
+Marcia half hopes she shall meet them somewhere and administer a public
+rebuke in the shape of a frown of such utter disapprobation that both
+will at once understand. Madame ruminates, as she often has before, on
+the slender chance that bridged all these matters over before one could
+utter a dissent. And the most probable sequel will be Eugene's love for
+his brother's wife. These little incidents are strewn all along life,
+and are too common to create any particular feeling of surprise.
+
+Marcia will not remain to luncheon, though madame invites her
+cordially. She is a little late at home, and finds her lord in a rather
+unamiable state.
+
+"I wonder what Eugene is about?" he asks, sharply. "There are piles of
+letters to go over, and no end of things to straighten up, and Eugene
+has not been near the factory this whole morning. He was in only an
+hour or two yesterday."
+
+"I saw him out driving with Mrs. Floyd," says Marcia, with a sneer that
+is a weak and small edition of her husband's.
+
+A lowering frown crosses Wilmarth's brow, then an expression quite
+inscrutable to Marcia,--amusement it looks like, but she knows he is
+angry and has a right to be.
+
+"I will go down there this afternoon," she says, with alacrity.
+
+"You will do no such thing. No doubt your brother has engaged Eugene to
+entertain his wife in his absence. For business men they are both----"
+
+The servant comes in and the sentence is unfinished. But Jasper
+Wilmarth is thinking that no doubt the handsome young man is very
+pleasing to Mrs. Floyd Grandon, and if the husband should wake up some
+day on the verge of a scandal, why, it will be one of those rare
+strokes of accidental, otherwise poetic justice.
+
+Marcia _does_ go "home," as they still call the place. Eugene is not
+about and Mrs. Latimer is spending the afternoon in an old-fashioned
+way with a nurse and two children. Marcia's fine moral sense is shocked
+at the duplicity of Mrs. Floyd, and she announces the fact to her
+husband at dinner, to which he replies with an uncomfortable laugh.
+
+Eugene brings Violet a letter on his return, and her face is illumined
+with eager joy. She cannot wait to retire becomingly to her own room,
+but breaks the seal on the porch, and is deep in its contents.
+
+"Oh!" she cries at first, in disappointment.
+
+"Floyd has gone on to Chicago," announces Eugene. "Wilmarth turned
+black as a thunder-cloud over the news. He scents treason, stratagems,
+and conspiracies."
+
+Violet looks up in curious amaze. "Mr. Grandon will never do
+anything--that is _not_ right," she adds, after a moment.
+
+Eugene shrugs his shoulders. "What may be right enough for him might
+hit Wilmarth hard," says the young man, and the tone implies that he
+would rather enjoy the hard hitting.
+
+Violet hardly hears that. She colors delicately over the remainder of
+the letter, which is not long, but touches her inexpressibly. He misses
+her amid all this haste and turmoil, and it is sweet to be so dear to
+him, that he really wants her, that he would like to be at home with
+her.
+
+"Papa sends you a dozen kisses," she says, as Cecil comes flying
+towards her.
+
+She is so gay and vivacious through dinner, and afterwards they go out
+on the river, rowed by Briggs, for Eugene is much too careful of his
+hands and his exertion to undertake such work this delicious evening.
+He and Violet sing duets as the purple film displaces the glories of
+azure and gold, and the twilight shadows the dusky bits of wood, the
+frowning rocks, and the indentations of shore that might be nereid
+haunts. The sky turns from its vivid tints to a dreamy gray, then a
+translucent blue, and a few stars steal slowly out. How lovely it all
+is! How kind Eugene is proving himself, and she wonders that she never
+remarked his pleasant traits before! Was it being so much in love with
+madame that made him captious and irritable, or was it Marcia's little
+ways of remarking upon every word or act that did not quite please her?
+
+"We must go back," she says, presently. "Cecil has fallen asleep, and
+it will not do to keep her out in the night air. How utterly lovely it
+is!" and she gives a deep inspiration of content.
+
+"It is because you enjoy everything in that keen, ardent sort of way,"
+says Eugene. "You are very different from what I thought you at first."
+
+"What did you think me?" she asks, in spite of Briggs sitting calmly
+there.
+
+"Well, you seemed such a little girl," answers Eugene, "and you were
+always so shy, except with the professor. Did you really like him so
+much? I should have been bored to death with all that prosy writing.
+Briggs," turning to the rower, as Violet covers Cecil more closely, "we
+will steer our barque homeward. It is a shame not to stay out this
+magnificent night."
+
+"We ought to be on the river a great deal more," returns Violet. "It is
+so tranquil and soothing, and there is a suggestive weirdness in it, as
+if you were going on to some mystery."
+
+Her voice drops to such a soft key as she utters the last word. The
+very air seems full of mystery to her, of messages carried back and
+forth. Will hers go to the one she is thinking of?
+
+When they land, Eugene takes Cecil in his arms and carries her up the
+terrace with a strange emotion of tenderness. He is fond of teasing her
+and hearing saucy replies, but ordinarily he does not care much for
+children.
+
+Violet helps to undress the sleepy girl and gives her more than the
+dozen kisses. Floyd has said in his letter, "I shall keep yours on
+interest until I come." And she suddenly hides her blushing face on the
+pillow beside the child. What does all this eager tremor and
+expectation mean?
+
+"Violet," calls Eugene up the stairway, "come down. Isn't Cecil
+asleep?"
+
+She would rather stay there and dream, but she seldom thinks of herself
+first. Cecil is sleeping soundly, and she glides down to talk a little,
+play a little, and sing a few songs. Listening to her, Eugene begins to
+consider himself a consummate fool. He would not marry madame if he
+could. If it were all to do over again,--but then he was _not_
+prepossessed with Violet when he first saw her, and now it is too late.
+He has no high and fine sentiments, he simply recognizes the fact that
+she is the wife of another; and though youth may indulge in foolish
+fondness, it is generally older and riper natures that are ready for a
+plunge in the wild vortex of passion.
+
+Their days pass in simple idyllic fashion. Another party is neglected,
+and even a German passed by, to the great astonishment of Marcia. She
+has called home several times, but _they_ have been out, not always
+together, though she chooses to think so. Violet has spent hours and
+hours with Mrs. Latimer, whose great charm is that she talks of Floyd
+Grandon, and she is amused with her ready, devoted listener.
+
+Marcia does find her at home one morning.
+
+"I think it a shame that Eugene did not go to the Brades' last night;"
+and her voice is thinner, sharper than usual, a sure sign of vexation.
+"They had counted on him for the German, and were awfully
+disappointed."
+
+"I did not want to go," replies Violet, in a soft, excusing tone.
+
+"I don't see what that had to do with it," is Marcia's short, pointed
+comment.
+
+Violet glances up. "Why, yes, he could have gone," she says,
+cheerfully. "I told him I did not mind staying alone. I do not
+understand Germans, and----"
+
+"You could have looked on," interrupts Marcia. "It seems extremely
+disobliging to the Brades, when they have taken the pains to cultivate
+you."
+
+"I have never been in company without Mr. Grandon," Violet says, in a
+steady tone, though her cheeks are scarlet, "except at your garden
+party, and then _he_ asked Eugene to take me."
+
+"Admirable condescension!" returns Marcia, angrily. "But possibly you
+may subject yourself quite as much to criticism by staying at home so
+closely with a young man. It is shameful how Eugene has gone on, hardly
+a day at the factory, and you two driving about and mooning on
+balconies and dawdling through the grounds. Very late admiration, too,
+on his part, when he would not take you in the first instance."
+
+"Would not take me in the first instance?" Violet repeats, in a dazed,
+questioning way.
+
+"Exactly," snaps Marcia. "Perhaps you are not aware an offer of your
+hand and fortune was made to Eugene Grandon, _and_ declined. So you
+know now what his admiration is worth! He is ready to flirt with any----"
+silly girl, she means to say, but makes it more stinging--"_any_ girl
+who throws herself at his head."
+
+"I do not in the least understand you," Violet begins, with quiet
+dignity, though her voice has an unsteady sound. "_When_ was my hand
+offered to Mr. Eugene Grandon?"
+
+Marcia is a little frightened at her temerity, but she is in for it
+now, and may as well make a clean sweep of all her vexations. From Mr.
+Wilmarth she has gathered the idea that Floyd's marriage has been
+inimical to him, and that business would have been much better served
+by Violet's union with Eugene. Then, all the family have disapproved of
+it, and it has been kept a secret from her. All these are sufficient
+wrongs, but the fact still remains that in some way Floyd is likely to
+make a great fortune for Violet, while the rest will gain nothing. More
+than all, Marcia has a good deal of the wasp in her nature, and loves
+to make a great buzz, as well as to sting.
+
+"Why," she answers, with airy insolence, "Floyd wished him to marry you
+and he declined, then Floyd married you himself. Your fortune was too
+valuable to go out of the family, I suppose. It was about the time your
+father died."
+
+Violet pales with a mortal hurt.
+
+"I think you are wrong there," and she summons all her strength to
+combat this monstrous accusation. "Mr. Grandon liked me
+because--because----"
+
+"Oh, yes; saving Cecil gave color to the romance, and it is all very
+pretty," says Marcia, with insufferable patronage. "But there was some
+one else, and he could have had quite as much fortune without any
+trouble. He was a fool for not marrying her."
+
+"You shall not discuss Mr. Grandon in this manner to me," declares
+Violet, indignant with wifely instincts.
+
+"Oh, you asked me yourself!" retorts her antagonist. "If you were at
+all sharp-sighted you could have seen----"
+
+Violet stops Marcia with a gesture of her hand. She stands there white
+as snow, but her eyes are larger, and gleam black, the color and
+tenderness have gone out of her scarlet mouth, and she seems to grow
+taller. Marcia is checked in her onslaught, and a half-misgiving comes
+to her.
+
+"After all," she says, presently, in a more moderate tone, "I supposed
+you _did_ know something about it. You really ought to have been told
+in the beginning, as all the rest were, it seems." And she adds the
+last a little bitterly, remembering she has been shut out of the family
+conference.
+
+"Mr. Grandon did what was right and best," Violet returns, loyally.
+
+"I suppose we all do what we think best," comments Marcia, with an air
+of wisdom, and experience sits enthroned on the little strip of brow
+above her eyes. "Well, I'm sorry you were not at the Brades', and I do
+think Eugene ought to pay better attention to business, especially now
+that Floyd is away. And I don't see why he should stay away from
+parties if you do not want to go."
+
+"There is no reason," answers Violet, coldly.
+
+Marcia bids her good morning, and flies down the steps with the air of
+one who has performed her whole duty. Now that she has attained to
+married respectability, she feels quite free to criticise the rest of
+the world, and she rejoices in the fact that she does carry more weight
+than a single woman.
+
+Violet stands by the window where Marcia left her. She is very glad to
+be alone, and thankful that Cecil is at the Latimers' for the day,
+although she is due there for a kind of nursery tea-party. A whirlwind
+seems to have swept over her, to have lifted her up bodily and carried
+her out of the sphere she was in two hours ago, and in this new country
+all is strange; on this desolate shore where she is stranded the sea
+moans in dull lament, as if the soul had gone out of that also, and
+left an aching heart behind. She might dismiss Marcia's tirade as other
+members of the family are wont to do, but there comes an awesome,
+shivering fear that it is true in some degree. How many times she has
+seen Gertrude check Marcia when Floyd was under discussion. She has
+never tried to pry into family secrets, but she knows there have been
+many about her; a certain kind of knowledge that all have shared, a
+something against her. She has fancied that she made some advances in
+living down the dislike; Mrs. Grandon has been kinder of late, and
+Marcia, since her marriage, quite confidential. Instead, she has done
+nothing, gained nothing.
+
+If Gertrude were only here. She has made that one true friend, whom
+nothing can shake, who, knowing all, came to love her with a tender
+regard that was not pity. But there is no one, no one. All is a dreary
+waste.
+
+A step comes up the balcony, and the mellifluous voice is whistling
+Schumann's Carnival. Whither shall she fly? But even now it is too
+late, for he meets her in the wide doorway.
+
+"Good heavens! what has happened? You look like a ghost," cries Eugene,
+in alarm. Then he stretches out his arms, for it seems as if she would
+fall to the floor.
+
+Violet shrinks back into the room and drops on the divan, making a
+gesture as if she would send him away.
+
+"I'm not going," he declares, "until you tell me what has happened.
+Cecil is all right, and you can have had no bad news from Floyd. You
+were so bright and well this morning, and we are to go to the Latimers'
+to-night----"
+
+"I cannot!" It would be a shriek if it were not a hoarse whisper, and
+she covers her face with her hands.
+
+Eugene is amazed. He is not a mysterious young man. He enjoys
+everything on the surface, and considers it a bore to dive deep for
+hidden meanings. Something comes to his aid. He skulked out of the road
+five minutes ago to avoid Marcia, for he knew she would open upon him
+for his dereliction of pleasure.
+
+"Marcia has been here," he announces. "She has said something to you,
+the spiteful little cat! See here, I can guess what unmitigated drivel
+it is. She has accused you of flirting with me, and said I stayed at
+home to keep you company when I should have been at the German."
+
+The rift of color in Violet's face answers him.
+
+"I believe I should like to wring her neck, the little hussy! Well, you
+are not to mind a bit of it. In the first place you are a little
+innocent and do not know how to flirt, even if you have magnificent
+eyes. You are too honest, too true; and it's all awful stuff, said out
+of pure jealousy."
+
+He has not comforted her. The awe-stricken face is still ashen,
+despairing. Any other girl would almost rush to his arms, she seems to
+go farther and farther away. Her large eyes look him over. He has a
+handsome face, and now it is kindly, sympathetic.
+
+"Tell me," he says, peremptorily. "You know you've never flirted. Why,
+you might make yourself more attractive than ten Marcias could possibly
+be; and, see here, I've never kissed you, though you have been my
+brother's wife for more than a year, and--bosh!" with the utmost
+contempt. "Oh, does it trouble you so?" After a moment, "My dear, dear
+girl, don't worry about it," and his face is full of genuine distress.
+The common comfort of life will not apply to this case.
+
+"It was wrong," she says, tremulously. "You have stayed home from
+business, and----"
+
+He laughs, it seems so utterly absurd. Many a day has he been away from
+the factory and perhaps not half so innocently employed.
+
+"See here," he begins, "we will let Floyd settle it when he comes home.
+Good heavens, won't he make it hot for Marcia! I shall tell him
+myself."
+
+"No, no!" and Violet starts up in anguish. "You must not utter a word!"
+
+"Well, why?" asks Eugene, with a kind of obstinate candor. "I'm
+sure--flirting, indeed! Why, Marcia couldn't be an hour in the room
+with any fellow, young or old, that she wouldn't make big eyes at him.
+I like to see people turn saints at short notice. I'll go off and have
+it out with her myself, and make her keep a civil tongue in the
+future."
+
+"Eugene!" Violet cries, in distress, as he is half-way through the
+hall. Oh, what shall she do? Must she go wild with all this pain and
+shame?
+
+"Well," he ejaculates, again standing indecisively.
+
+"She said other things," and the dry lips move convulsively. "I must
+know; I cannot live with this horrible shadow over everything. There is
+no one else to ask."
+
+He comes and seats himself on the divan beside her, and there is a
+glimpse of Floyd in his face. His voice falls to a most persuasive
+inflection as he rejoins, "Tell me, ask me anything, and I will answer
+you truly. There has never been any horrible thing since you came here,
+or ever that I can remember. What did Marcia say?"
+
+Perhaps, after all, Marcia did not tell the exact truth, and Violet's
+despairing face lightens. Marcia may have Charles Lamb's way of
+thinking the truth too precious to be wasted upon everybody, for she is
+sometimes extremely economizing. And Violet _must_ know.
+
+"You will tell me if--if Mr. Grandon asked you to marry me--before----"
+
+Eugene springs up and utters a low, angry ejaculation, strides across
+the floor and then back again. Violet's face is crimsoned to its utmost
+capacity, and her eyes have that awful beseechingness that cuts him to
+the soul. If he could, if he dared deny it! but even as this flashes
+through his brain a stony kind of certainty settles in every line, and
+he gathers that denial would be useless.
+
+"See here, my dear little sister," and sitting down he takes the small,
+cold hand in his. "I will tell you the truth. There is nothing horrible
+or disgraceful in it! Your father proposed that instead of having any
+business trouble to be years in the course of settlement, I should
+marry you, as the patent was in such an uncertain state and he had
+invested everything in it. It simply joined the fortunes, don't you
+see? Well, I was a dumb, blundering idiot, head over heels in an
+infatuation, and knew nothing about you, but it will be the regret of
+my whole life that I did _not_ come when Floyd sent for me. And I
+suppose he fell in love with you himself; he could not have cared for
+the fortune, he had enough of his own."
+
+Violet draws a long, shivering breath, but her very soul seems icy cold
+with doubt.
+
+"You did not--despise me?" she cries, with passionate entreaty.
+
+"Despise you? Why, I didn't know anything about you." The young man's
+lethargic conscience gives him a severe prick. He should not have made
+light of it to Laura and madame, but he _did_ bind them to inviolate
+secrecy. "If I had seen you I should not have despised you, I should
+have married you," he says, triumphantly. "If you were free to-day, I
+should ask you to marry me. I think you the sweetest and most rarely
+honest girl I have ever met, and you _are_ beautiful, though I wouldn't
+own that at first. Despise you? Why, I would fight the whole world for
+you, and I will, if----"
+
+"No," she interrupts. Even his spirited defence cannot restore what has
+been so rudely wrenched away. She feels so old, so weary, so desolate,
+that nothing matters. "It is not so bad----" and she looks up with
+piteous eyes.
+
+"Why, there is nothing bad about it at all," he declares, impatiently.
+"Don't the English and the French plan marriages, and there are people
+here whose parents join fortunes, lots of them! Marcia was angry and
+wanted to mortify you. The idea of marrying Jasper Wilmarth and then
+lording it over everybody, is too good! And as for flirting--well, I
+wouldn't dare flirt with you," he says, laughingly. "Floyd would soon
+settle me. I like you too well, I honor you too much," he continues.
+"There, will you not be comforted with something? Oh, I have a letter
+from Floyd, and he will be home to-morrow night! I came to bring it to
+you."
+
+He takes it from his pocket and hands it to her, but her fingers
+tremble, and no joy lights up her pale face. Eugene is so sincerely
+sorry that he holds himself in thorough contempt for his part in the
+early history of the affair, and he is very angry as well.
+
+"Now," he says, "I am going away, and I shall not be home to luncheon,
+but I will meet you at the Latimers'. If Marcia dares to make another
+comment, it will be the worse for her, that's all. My poor child, are
+you going to keep that dreary face and those despairing eyes for Floyd
+to see?"
+
+He has a very strong inclination to take her in his arms and shower
+tenderness upon her; but if he has been drifting that way for the past
+week, he is rudely awakened now. He looks at her helplessly. If she
+would only cry; the girls he has seen have been ready enough with their
+tears.
+
+"Yes, you must go," she says, wearily. "Thank you for the letter, for
+_all_." Then she walks slowly out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+What act of Legislature was there that thou shouldst be happy?--CARLYLE.
+
+
+While Eugene Grandon's anger is at white heat he goes to Madame
+Lepelletier and taxes her with betrayed trust. He knows very well that
+Marcia could not long keep such a tidbit to herself. Laura is away, and
+his mother never has repeated the tale, though to him she has bemoaned
+his short-sightedness, the more since the fortune has been certain.
+
+Madame is surprised, dignified, and puts down the young man with the
+steel hand in the velvet glove; explaining that Marcia had it from some
+other source. There really is nothing detrimental in it to Mrs.
+Grandon. A handsome young man of good family may be selected without
+insult to _any_ young woman, and to decline a lady you never saw cannot
+reflect on the _personale_ of the one under consideration. It seems
+rather silly at this late hour to take umbrage.
+
+Eugene cools a little, and admits to himself there is nothing in it
+that ought to make Violet miserable, especially since he has confessed
+that he would be only too glad to marry her now; and as for the
+accusation of flirting, he can soon put an end to that by being sweet
+on Lucia Brade for a week or two. But he really _does_ care for Violet,
+and no one shall offer her any insult with impunity. He means to go at
+Marcia when opportunity offers. Ah! can it be her husband who gave her
+the delectable information?
+
+Violet goes to her room and reads her letter, that is tender with the
+thought of return, and yet it does not move her. Floyd Grandon is fond
+of her; he pitied her desolate condition long ago, and since he did not
+need her fortune he took her simply to shield her from trouble and
+perplexity. She remembers his grave, fatherly conduct through all that
+time; his tenderness was not that of a lover, his consideration sprang
+from pity. Yet why was she satisfied then and so crushed now?
+
+Ah! she has eaten of the tree of knowledge; she has grown wise in
+love's lore. She has been dreaming that she has had the love, when it
+is only a semblance, a counterfeit; not a base one, but still it has
+not the genuine ring. He did not esteem her so much at first but that
+he could offer her to another, and therein lies the bitter sting to
+her. It is not because Eugene cared so little. How could he regard a
+stranger he had not seen, if he who had seen her did not care, whose
+kindness was so tinctured with indifference? Even if he had wanted her
+fortune, she thinks she could forgive it more easily.
+
+She sends word down-stairs presently that there need be no lunch, but
+she will have a cup of tea. She throws herself on the bed and shivers
+as if it were midwinter. To-night, why even now, he is on his way home;
+to-morrow morning she ought to give him a glad welcome. She will be
+glad, but not with the light-hearted joy of yesterday; that can never
+be hers again. It seems as if she had been tramping along the
+sea-shore, gathering at intervals choice pearls for a gift, and now,
+when she has them, no friend stands with outstretched hands to take,
+and all her labor has been vain. She is so tired, so tired! Her little
+hands drop down heavily and the pearls fall out, that is all.
+
+She does not go over to the cottage until quite late, and walks
+hurriedly, that it may bring some color to her pale cheeks. Cecil and
+Elsie Latimer have come to meet her, and upbraid her for being so
+tardy. They have swung in the hammock, they have run and danced and
+played, and now Denise has the most magnificent supper on the great
+porch outside the kitchen door. But if _she_ could have danced and
+ran and played with them!
+
+Mrs. Latimer has a cordial welcome, and Eugene makes his appearance. To
+do the young man justice, he is utterly fascinating to the small host.
+Violet watches him with a curiously grateful emotion. There is nothing
+for her to do, he does it all.
+
+"You are in a new character to-night," declares Mrs. Latimer. "It never
+seemed to me that entertaining children was your forte."
+
+"I think you have all undervalued me," he answers, with plaintive
+audacity, while a merry light shines in his dark eyes. He _is_ very
+handsome, and so jolly and joyous that the children are convulsed with
+laughter. They lure him down in the garden afterward for a game of
+romps.
+
+"How Eugene Grandon has changed!" says Mrs. Latimer. "He was extremely
+moody when Madame Lepelletier first fenced him out a little," and she
+smiles. "How odd that so many young men should take their first fancy
+to a woman older than themselves!"
+
+"Do they?" says Violet, simply. Somehow she cannot get back to the
+world wherein she dwelt yesterday.
+
+"Yes, I have seen numberless instances. Sometimes it makes a good
+friendship for after life, but I fancy it will not in this case.
+Indeed, I do not believe a man could have a friendship with her, for
+there is no middle ground. It is admiration and love. She is the most
+fascinating woman I have ever met, and always makes me think of the
+queens of the old French _salons_."
+
+Violet answers briefly to the talk. "She is thinking of her husband,"
+ruminates Mrs. Latimer. "She is very much in love with him, which is a
+good thing, seeing that the young man is disenchanted, and ready to lay
+his homage at the feet of another."
+
+It is quite dusk when they start for home. Cecil nestles close to
+Violet, who kisses her tenderly. The child's love is above suspicion or
+doubt, and very grateful to her aching heart.
+
+"You see," exclaims Eugene, as he hands her out, "that I have begun a
+new _role_. I love you so sincerely that no idle gossip shall touch you
+through me."
+
+The tears come into her eyes for the first time. She longs to cling to
+him, to weep as one might on the shoulder of a brother.
+
+The drawing-room is lighted up, and there are two figures within.
+
+"Oh, you are come at last!" says the rather tart voice of Mrs. Grandon,
+who has telegraphed to Briggs to meet her at the early evening train,
+finding that she has made some earlier connections on her journey. "I
+was amazed to find every one away. Ah, my dear Eugene! Cecil, how do
+you do?" And she stoops to kiss the child.
+
+"Mrs. Latimer gave a nursery tea-party," explains Eugene, "or garden
+party, was it not?"
+
+"Here is my old friend, Mrs. Wilbur," she says. "Tomorrow Mrs. Dayre
+and her daughter will be here. Is not Floyd home yet?"
+
+Violet answers the last as she is introduced to Mrs. Wilbur, a pleasant
+old lady with a rosy face surrounded by silvery curls.
+
+"What a lovely child!" exclaims Mrs. Wilbur. "Why, she looks something
+as Gertrude used, and I thought Gertrude a perfect blond fairy. Have
+you not a kiss for me, my dear?"
+
+Cecil is amiable as an angel, won by the mellow, persuasive voice.
+
+Violet excuses herself as soon as possible. She has a headache and does
+look deathly pale. Eugene makes himself supremely entertaining, to the
+great delight of his mother. It is so new a phase for him to do
+anything with direct reference to another person's happiness or
+well-being, that he feels comfortably virtuous and heroic. No one shall
+make Violet suffer for his sake. What an awful blunder it was _not_ to
+marry her, for, after all, Floyd is not really in love with her!
+
+Violet cannot sleep. A strange impulse haunts her, a desire to escape
+from the chain, to fly to the bounds of the earth, to bury herself out
+of sight, to give up, worsted and discomfited, for there can be no
+fight. There is no enemy to attack. It is kindest, tenderest friend who
+has offered her a stone for bread, when she did not know the
+difference. She recalls her old talks with Denise concerning a wife's
+duty and obedience and respect. Ah, how could she have been so
+ignorant, or having been blind, why should she see now? That old life
+was satisfactory! She never dreamed of anything beyond. But she has
+seen the fine gold of love offered upon the altar. John Latimer is no
+better, finer, or nobler man than Floyd Grandon, and yet he loves his
+wife with so tender a passion that Violet's life looks like prison and
+starvation beside it. If she dared go to Floyd Grandon and ask for a
+little love! Did he give it all to that regal woman long ago, and does
+the ghost of the strangled passion stand between?
+
+She tosses wearily, and is not much refreshed when morning dawns.
+Fortunately it is a busy day. Mrs. Dayre, who is a rather youngish
+widow of ample means, and who spent her early days at Westbrook, a sort
+of elder contemporary of the Grandons and Miss Stanwood, is to come
+with her young and pretty daughter, and take her mother with them to
+the West. Eugene goes to the station, and finds Miss Bertie Dayre a
+very stylish young woman, with an abundance of blond hair, creamy skin,
+white teeth, and a dazzling smile. She has been a year in society, the
+kind that has made an old campaigner of her already. She is not exactly
+fast, but she dallies on the seductive verge and picks out the
+daintiest bits of slang. She is seventeen, but looks mature as twenty;
+her mother is thirty-six, and could discount the six years easily.
+
+Violet has made friends with Mrs. Wilbur, who finds her old-fashioned
+simplicity charming. She helps to receive the new guests, not as much
+startled by Miss Dayre as she would have been six months ago. The world
+is so different outside of convent walls that it seems sometimes as if
+she were in a play, acting a part.
+
+In the midst of this Floyd Grandon arrives. Cecil captures him in
+wildest delight. Violet is glad to meet him first before all these
+people; alas for love when it longs for no secrecy! She colors and a
+sweet light glows in her face, she cannot unlearn her lesson all at
+once. Then she is quiet, lady-like, composed. Floyd watches her with a
+curious sensation. It is a new air of being mistress, of having a
+responsibility.
+
+There certainly is a very gay week at Grandon Park. Bertie Dayre stirs
+people into exciting life. She is vivacious, exuberant, has wonderful
+vitality, and is never still a moment. Eugene has no need to devote
+himself to Miss Brade, he cannot even attend to Miss Bertie's pressing
+needs, and Floyd is called in to fill empty spaces. All men seem
+created with a manifest purpose of adding to her steady enjoyment.
+
+"I think you were very short-sighted to marry so young," says Miss
+Dayre, calmly, to Violet, as they are driving out one morning. "What
+kind of a life are you going to have? It seems almost as if your
+greatest duty was to be a sort of nursery governess to the child, who
+is a marvel of beauty. How extremely fond her father is of her! Now _I_
+should be jealous."
+
+She utters this with a calm assumption of authority bordering on
+experience. Indeed, Bertie Dayre impresses you with the certainty that
+she _does_ know a great deal, the outcome of her confident belief in
+her own shrewd, far-sighted eyes.
+
+"But _I_ love Cecil very much," returns Violet, so earnestly that
+Bertie stares.
+
+"There are some women to whom children are more than the husband,"
+announces this wise young woman. "I should want to have the highest
+regard for my husband. In fact, I mean never to marry until I can find
+a soul the exact counterpart of mine. Marriages are too hurried,--too
+many minor considerations are taken into account, home, money,
+position, protection, and all that,--but I suppose every girl cannot
+order her own life. I shall be able to."
+
+Violet smiles dreamily, yet there is infinite sadness in it. If she
+could have ordered her life, she would have married Floyd Grandon and
+made the same mistake fate has made for her. Even now she would rather
+be the object of his kindly, indifferent tenderness than the wife of
+any other. Eugene's brilliance and spirited devotion do not touch her
+in any depth of sentiment, and yet he is so kind, so thoughtful for
+her, she sees it in so many ways.
+
+All this whirl of gayety has had its effect everywhere. Marcia has come
+down with unblenching audacity to welcome her mother and take the
+measure of the new situation. Floyd is very cordial,--then Violet has
+not gone to him with complaints. Marcia is one of those people on whom
+generosity and the higher types of virtue are completely thrown away.
+She is full of clever devices that she sets down as intuitions or the
+ready reading of character. Violet speaks quietly and resents nothing,
+therefore she is quite sure the young wife's conscience will not allow
+her to. Conscience is a great factor in the make-up of other people,
+but her own seems of a gossamer quality. Indeed, she feels rather
+aggrieved that her _coup de main_ has wrought so little disaster.
+"But it will make her more careful how she goes on with Eugene," she
+comments to herself. Only Eugene seems not to have the slightest desire
+to go on with her, and that is another cause of elation.
+
+Floyd Grandon is somewhat puzzled about his wife. He has come to
+understand the shy deference of manner, the frank friendliness, too,
+has nothing perplexing in it, but this unsmiling gravity, this gracious
+repose, amuse at first, then amaze a little. It is as if she has been
+taking lessons of some society woman, and he could almost accuse
+madame. She is very gentle and sweet. What is it he misses?
+
+After all, he has not studied women to any great extent, his days have
+been so filled up with other matters, only she has hitherto appeared so
+transparent. She has liked him, but she has not been passionately in
+love, and he has never felt entirely certain that he desired it. Why,
+then, is he not satisfied?
+
+Oddly enough, he has heard about the waltzing from Eugene, who desires
+to put it in its true light. It occurs one evening when he and Miss
+Dayre have been spinning and floating and whirling through drawing-room
+and hall, while Violet plays with fingers that seem bewitched and shake
+out showers of delicious melody. They have paused to take breath.
+
+"Do you not waltz?" asks Bertie of Floyd, with a dazzling lure in her
+eyes.
+
+"Oh, yes!" answers Eugene for him. "He and Mrs. Grandon waltz divinely
+together, but take them apart and I warn you the charm will be gone. I
+tried it a few evenings ago at my sister's, with Mrs. Grandon, and it
+was a wretched, spiritless failure. I wish there was some one else to
+play, and you could see them."
+
+Floyd bites his lips, and wonders if Eugene is paying back a
+mortification.
+
+"Oh, mamma will play," exclaims Bertie, with alacrity. "She is
+wonderfully good at such music, though Mrs. Grandon plays in exquisite
+time. Mamma."
+
+"Don't trouble her," entreats Floyd.
+
+Bertie is resolute, Mrs. Dayre obliging, and comes in from her balcony
+seat.
+
+"Violet," says Mr. Grandon, "will you waltz awhile? Mrs. Dayre has
+kindly offered to play."
+
+"I am not tired," answers Violet, in that curious, breathless tone
+which is almost a refusal.
+
+"But I want you to," declares Bertie. "Mr. Eugene has so roused my
+curiosity."
+
+Floyd takes her hand with a certain sense of mastery, and she yields.
+It is not the glad, joyous alacrity she has heretofore evinced.
+Eugene's half-confession, made with a feeling of honor that rarely
+attacks the young man, has failed of its mission. Some sense of fine
+adjustment is wanting.
+
+Mrs. Dayre strikes into a florid whirl that would answer for a peasant
+picnic under the trees.
+
+"Not that," says Eugene. "Some of those lovely, undulating movements.
+Oh, there is that Beautiful Blue Danube----"
+
+"Which they waltzed when they came out of the ark," laughs Bertie, "but
+it is lovely."
+
+The strain touches Violet. The great animating hope for joy has dropped
+out of her life, but youth is left, and youth cannot help being moved.
+Mrs. Dayre plays with an enchanting softness, and they float up and
+down as in some tranced sea.
+
+"She waltzes fairly," comments Miss Dayre, "only she should be taller.
+I should like to waltz with him myself."
+
+"They are a sort of Darby and Joan couple," says Eugene, evasively,
+"and his dancing days are about over."
+
+"What a--mistake!" and Bertie laughs brightly. "Why, he is magnificent.
+Do you know I had a rather queer fancy about him; you expect literary
+men to be--well, grave and severe. The idea of his marrying a child
+like that! Why did he do it?"
+
+"Because he loved her," replies the young man, with unblushing
+mendacity.
+
+"Literary men and the clergy always do perpetrate matrimony in a
+curious manner. Do they go out much?" inclining her head toward the two
+floating at the other end of the room.
+
+"Oh, to dinners and that sort of thing!" indifferently. "She is very
+sweet and has lovely eyes, but she is not the kind of person that I
+should think would attract him."
+
+"What is it--the 'impossible that always happens'?" quotes Eugene, and
+as they come nearer Miss Dayre has the grace to be silent.
+
+Floyd Grandon feels that some enthusiasm is missing, the divine flavor
+has gone out of it. Violet is so gentle, so quiet and unstirred by what
+only a little while ago carried her captive into an enchanted realm.
+
+"Are you tired?" he asks, presently.
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+She makes no motion for a release, and they go on. Indeed, it has a
+kind of pungent bitter-sweet elusiveness for her, almost as if she
+might come up with the lost happiness. "It is all there is, and she
+must make herself content," she is saying over and over. She has
+dreamed a wild, impossible dream.
+
+Bertie Dayre is fond of conquests in strange lands. Even Violet comes
+to be amused at the frank bids she makes for Floyd's favor, but he
+seems not to see, to take them with the grave courtesy that is a part
+of his usual demeanor. Yet the preference has this effect upon him, to
+make him wish that another would try some delicate allurements. He is
+in a mood to be won to love, and Violet is fatally blind not to see
+that her day has come and take advantage of it.
+
+From this point the summer festivities go straight on. There are guests
+at Madame Lepelletier's and a series of charming entertainments. The
+Brades have a houseful, and Lucia is followed by a train of adorers;
+but what does it all avail, since Mordecai sits stubbornly at the gate?
+Violet comes to have a strange, secret sympathy with the girl who
+cannot be content and choose among what is offered.
+
+Madame Lepelletier is no less a queen here than she was in the city;
+indeed, the glories may be greater, more intense, from being
+circumscribed. The Latimers and the Grandons are frequent guests and
+meet people whom it is a delight to know; and Lucia decides there is no
+such lawn tennis anywhere, no such enchanting little suppers and
+dances. Eugene is rather resentful at first, but no one can hold out
+long against madame, and she finds a new way to please him,--to offer a
+little delicate incense at Violet's shrine. To her there is something
+in the way these two young people avoid any pronounced attention. Is it
+indicative of a secret understanding between them? If it has reached
+that point, she can guess at the subtle temptation for both. Certainly
+Floyd Grandon evinces no symptoms of any change in his regard; indeed,
+he does not seem quite so _eprise_ as some weeks ago, and there _is_ a
+mysterious alteration in Violet. She watches warily; she has seen so
+many of these small episodes. This will hardly culminate in a scandal,
+for Floyd Grandon is too well-bred, but some day Eugene will speak and
+Violet's eyes will be opened and she will hate Floyd Grandon for having
+bound her in chains before she had tasted the sweets of liberty.
+
+It is true Floyd Grandon is rather absent and engrossed. There are many
+cares weighing upon him, and there seems one chance of turning over the
+business so successfully that his very desire and hope beget a feverish
+fear. Two manufacturers of large means and established reputation see
+in the coming success of Grandon & Co. a rival with whom it will be
+impossible to cope. Their new methods are beyond all excellent, and
+there is such a cheapening of process that for a while, at least,
+profits will be simply enormous. Shall they take the fortune at its
+high tide? Mr. Haviland has gone to Europe, and on the success of some
+projects there, the answer will depend. Mr. Murray is in correspondence
+with him and with Mr. Grandon, and since Floyd hopes so much, he grows
+nervous and uneasy, except when he loses himself in his beloved work or
+spends a quiet evening with John Latimer. He has so little time for the
+speculations or the endearments of love, that Violet drops into a soft
+and twilight background. She has everything; she is coming to be
+admired and treated with the respect due her position. Cecil and she
+are inseparables, and with all her fondness she does not spoil Cecil or
+allow her to become the terror of the household.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+"I watched the distance as it grew,
+And loved you better than you knew."
+
+
+"Violet," Floyd Grandon says, one morning, "I have invited two guests
+who will come to-day, a Mr. Murray and his daughter. She is a very
+pretty young girl and fond of society. I think we had better plan some
+entertainments. What would you like--a garden party? I want to render
+Grandon Park attractive to Miss Murray."
+
+"Is she like Miss Dayre?" asks Violet, gravely.
+
+"She is a pretty girl with the usual fair hair," and he smiles. "No, I
+fancy she is not like Miss Dayre, and yet I thought Bertie Dayre oddly
+entertaining. Miss Murray is fond of dancing. The evening I was there
+she was full of delight about a German. I don't know but you ought to
+pay some attention to that," he adds, with a touch of solicitude.
+
+"It is very fascinating," she makes answer. "You know we are invited to
+Madame Lepelletier's German on Thursday evening."
+
+"I really had forgotten. Why, it is the very thing. I shall go down and
+get an invitation for Miss Murray, and bespeak madame's favor. They
+will reach here about two, I think, and must have some lunch. Mother
+will take charge of that. When Miss Murray is rested you can take her
+out driving. We might have some kind of gathering on Friday evening."
+
+Violet wonders why so much is to be done for Miss Murray's
+entertainment, and she shrinks a little at having it on her hands. But
+Eugene, who has been off on a brief expedition, will return to-morrow,
+and he can assist her.
+
+Floyd meanwhile saunters out to the hall and takes his hat, with a
+little kindly nod to Violet, who sits by the window with a book. There
+has been a quiet week, from various causes, and now the whirl is to
+begin again. She has not so much heart in it as youth ought to have or
+her eighteen years would rightly warrant, and she turns idly again to
+her page. At times some of Bertie Dayre's comments come back to her
+with a kind of electric shiver. Is she anything to her husband beyond a
+pet and tenderly guarded child like Cecil? a companion for her, rather
+than for her husband. Could Madame Lepelletier have been more to him?
+
+Ah, she could, and Violet knows it in the depths of her soul. It is a
+bitter and humiliating knowledge. Madame has the exquisite art of
+filling her house with attractive people, of harmonizing, of giving
+satisfaction, of rendering her guests at home with herself, of charming
+grave men and wise scholars, as well as gay young girls. It is true
+Violet has married him, but was not Floyd Grandon's regard brought
+about by a pique, an opportunity to retaliate the wrong once done to
+him? What if there were moments when he regretted it?
+
+He goes down the handsome avenue lined with maples, remembering the old
+times with Aunt Marcia and all the changes, and recalling Miss
+Stanwood, as he seldom has until Mrs. Dayre talked her over. He can see
+the tall, slender, dignified girl, just as he can call up the young
+student with his head full of plans, none of which came to pass, none
+of which he would care for now. His life has changed and broadened like
+the old place, and when this business is fairly off his hands there
+will be new paths of delight opening before him. He will take Violet
+away somewhere,--to Europe, perhaps, when Gertrude and the professor
+go. She is such a simple child, she needs training and experience and
+years. Youth is sweet, but it is not the time of ripeness.
+
+Madame Lepelletier is on the shaded porch, sitting in a hammock; a
+scarlet cushion embroidered with yellow jasmine supports her head and
+shoulders, and her daintily slippered feet rest on a soft Persian rug.
+
+"Ah," she says, holding out her hand, but she does not rise, and he has
+to bend over to take it. "Sit here," and she reaches out to the willow
+chair, "unless you would prefer going within. I am living out of doors,
+taking in the summer fragrance and warmth for the coming winter."
+
+"O provident woman!" and he laughs, as he seats himself beside her.
+
+She makes such a lovely picture here in the waving green gloom, with
+specks of sunshine filtered about, the cushion being the one brilliant
+mass of color that seems to throw up her shining black hair and dusky,
+large-lidded eyes. There is a suggestion of affluent orientalism that
+attracts strongly.
+
+"Well, are blessings so numerous that one can throw them aside
+broadcast? Do we not need such visions as these to take us through the
+ice and snow and gray skies of a stinging winter day?"
+
+"With your house at eighty degrees and tropical plants in every
+corner?"
+
+"You are resolved not to approve of my laying up treasure. I breathe
+delight with every waft of fragrance, and though you may not believe
+it, the natural has a charm for me. I have been slowly studying it for
+a year. Is it a symptom of second childhood,--this love of olden
+pleasures, this longing to retrace?" and she raises her slow-moving
+eyes, letting them rest a moment on his face.
+
+"Hardly, in your case," and he smiles.
+
+She likes him to study her as he is gravely doing now. She has not
+posed for him, and yet she thought of him when she came out and settled
+herself.
+
+"I have a favor to ask," he says, presently, and it would sound abrupt
+if the voice were less finely modulated.
+
+"I am in a mood which is either indolent or generous. Try me."
+
+Floyd Grandon prefers his request. It is never any direct aid or
+benefit to himself. Has this man no little friendly needs?
+
+"Of course," she says. "Then I shall be sure of you as a spectator of
+the pageant. I was not at all certain you would honor me, since Mrs.
+Grandon does not participate in Germans."
+
+"But I think she would like them," he says. "I suppose disparity in
+marriages is generally condemned for kindred reasons, one has gone by
+the heyday of youth, and the other should be in it. Almost I am tempted
+to try a German. Would Latimer keep me in countenance, I wonder?"
+
+"Yes," she answers. "And Mrs. Latimer would no doubt take you through
+the figures. Miss Murray is probably skilled in the art."
+
+"And I must give a garden party for her. Would Friday answer?"
+
+"Too soon, unless--how long does she remain?"
+
+"A week or so. It is possible if Mr. Murray should be charmed with the
+place he would cast in his lot at Grandon Park."
+
+"Where is Mrs. Murray?"
+
+"There is no Mrs. Murray, and only one daughter. I am not quite equal
+to the care of young ladies. If Laura were here--so you see I am
+compelled to trouble my friends."
+
+That is all settled and she leads him to other matters. There are
+higher subjects than Germans between them,--the new literary work, the
+return of Prof. Freilgrath, a coming winter of more absolute
+satisfaction than the last, the possibilty of much time being spent in
+the city, and bits of half-confidence that she knows he can give to no
+other. She is his friend, and there is a secret elation in this; more
+she does not care to claim.
+
+He drives to the station for his new friends. Violet is awaiting his
+return with her attendant Cecil, who is the embodiment of brilliant
+health and rare beauty. Mr. Murray is a fine business-looking man, a
+trifle past forty, with smiling, shrewd gray eyes, a bright complexion,
+and full brown beard. Miss Murray is tall, with a willowy figure, a
+round, infantile face, with wondering blue eyes, a dimpled chin, a
+rather wide mouth, but the lips are exquisitely curved and smiling; not
+a regular beauty, but possessing much piquant loveliness and the
+peculiar gift of interesting you at once. Even Violet is curiously
+moved as she holds the plump, ungloved hand in hers. Miss Murray's
+voice has a rather plaintive, persuasive note in it, quite different
+from the independent ring of Miss Dayre.
+
+Violet conducts her up to a pretty guest-chamber, and listens to the
+events of the journey and a two weeks' stay at Newport, which has been
+crowded full of pleasure.
+
+"I hope we shall not seem dull here by contrast," says Mrs. Grandon,
+and Miss Murray notes the especial refinement of this little lady, who
+is the wife of the somewhat famous Floyd Grandon.
+
+"I do not expect every place to be quite alike," returns Miss Murray,
+with cheerful good-nature. "And we met several people at Newport who
+knew Mr. Grandon. Isn't there a learned German who married some
+one----"
+
+"Professor Freilgrath, whose wife is Mr. Grandon's sister."
+
+"Are you literary, too?" and Miss Murray's childlike eyes accent the
+question with a perceptible negative hope.
+
+"Oh, no!" and Violet smiles with admirable expression.
+
+"Well, I am glad," returns the young girl, rather hesitatingly. "I am
+not much used to them, you see, and I like nice jolly times better. I
+do almost everything in the way of amusement. Do you play lawn tennis?"
+
+"I do not quite understand it, and blunder dreadfully," admits Violet.
+
+"Oh, I adore it!"
+
+"Then Mr. Grandon's brother will be able to entertain you. He is an
+excellent player."
+
+"The one they call Eugene?"
+
+"Yes, there is but one."
+
+"Papa and Mr. Grandon talked about him. How old is he?"
+
+"Past twenty-three," answers Violet, "and very handsome."
+
+"Dark or light?"
+
+"Dark, brilliant, with a splendid figure and perfect health."
+
+"I adore dark men," says Miss Murray. "And does he dance?"
+
+"He is an elegant dancer. We are all to go to a German to-morrow
+evening. Eugene is away now, but will return in the morning."
+
+Miss Murray confesses that she "adores" Germans and rowing and riding.
+She has a magnificent horse at home. She is not going to school any
+more, but may consider herself regularly in society.
+
+After all these confidences Violet leaves her to make any change in her
+attire that she deems desirable, and Miss Murray comes down in a blue
+silk that is wonderfully becoming. It makes her complexion more
+infantile, her hair more golden, and her eyes larger. She has a soft,
+languishing aspect, and really interests Violet, who does not feel so
+utterly lacking in wisdom as she did with Miss Dayre, for Miss Murray
+makes girlish little speeches and "adores" generally.
+
+There is an elegant luncheon of fruit and delicacies, and Mrs. Grandon
+_mere_ presides. Afterward the gentlemen betake themselves to the tower
+and smoke; Violet and her guest divide between the shady end of the
+drawing-room and the porch, with its beautiful prospect. When the
+midday heat begins to abate they have their drive and some trotting on
+the boulevard. Miss Murray grows quite confidential, not in a weak or
+silly manner, but with the frank _insouciance_ of youth. She seems so
+generally bent upon having a good time and being liked, admired. She is
+simply frank where Miss Dayre was independent. She does everything,
+rows and rides and plays out-of-door games, even to belonging to an
+archery club. But needlework is her abhorrence, and with all her
+restless youth she has a great grace of repose as she sits in the
+willow veranda chair.
+
+Eugene comes through in a night train,--time is so valuable to
+him,--and is set down, with all his traps, at the door of the mansion
+just after the gentlemen have had breakfast and departed. Violet
+catches a glimpse of him and flies up from the summer-house.
+
+"Oh, you have come!" she cries. "I am so glad."
+
+He takes both hands in his, and if the servants were not about, he
+would draw down the sweet, blooming face and kiss it. There is an eager
+light in her eyes, a quiver about the rose-red mouth, a certain abandon
+that is very fascinating.
+
+"Yes," he replies. "It was an awful bore! No game, nor anything but
+stupid card-playing. Wished myself home fifty times. How lovely you
+look!" and his eyes study her so closely that she flushes in a
+ravishing fashion.
+
+"Are you tired to death? I have so much for you to do. There is a
+German to-night at Madame Lepelletier's, and we are all going. We have
+a guest, a young lady."
+
+He gives a whistle, and the delight in his face vanishes more rapidly
+than it ought.
+
+"A Miss Murray," Violet goes on. "You cannot help liking her: I do."
+
+"Then I shall," he returns, with a meaning laugh.
+
+"When you are rested----" Violet begins.
+
+"Oh, I slept like a top! Nothing _could_ keep me awake but a troubled
+conscience. When I get the dust of ages washed off and make myself
+presentable I will hunt you up. Where shall I look? Only--I'd like to
+have you a little glad for your own sake. You might care that much."
+
+"Why, I _am_ glad, I did miss you," she says, daintily. "We are in the
+summer-house reading novels."
+
+He unclasps her hands reluctantly. He has been thinking of her day and
+night when he was not asleep. Madame would be very well satisfied at
+the completeness with which her rival has dethroned her. His callow
+passion for her has turned his attention from over-much racing and
+gaming, and therein was a benefit, but it has also implanted within his
+breast an intense desire for some woman's admiration, and circumstances
+have led him to Violet. He has been allowing himself to think that if
+he _had_ met her while she was free he would have cared. She is so
+lovely and beguiling, how could he have helped it? And he sees in this
+Miss Murray's coming an opportunity to be more devoted to her, without
+exposing her to any unfavorable comments.
+
+Violet wonders how he could get through with his toilet so rapidly when
+he stands in the doorway of the summer-house, fresh, brilliant, his
+lithe figure the embodiment of manly grace, his dark eyes bright,
+imperious, and winning, and his smile captivating. A curious light goes
+over Miss Murray's face at the introduction. Evidently she is surprised
+and satisfied.
+
+They drop into a gay little chat. The sun comes round with such intense
+heat that they are driven up to the shady balcony and the hammocks.
+Violet is in a new and enchanting mood; she is of their kind to-day,
+bright with youth and enjoyment. She even surprises herself. She hardly
+knew there was so much merry audacity in her nature, such a capability
+of riotous delight.
+
+The gentlemen do not return to lunch.
+
+"I suppose Miss Murray's father is one of the literary sort," says
+Eugene, afterward. "Nothing of the bluestocking about her, though.
+Isn't she jolly?"
+
+"I am so glad you like her," Violet answers. "I don't know what Mr.
+Murray is, only he doesn't seem like a--that kind, you know, but I
+suppose he must be," she settles in her own mind. "They are very
+wealthy."
+
+"Birds of a feather," laughs Eugene, adverting to Floyd.
+
+The afternoon is a good deal taken up with dresses; Miss Murray has
+half a dozen that are simple yet extremely elegant. She finally selects
+a lace robe made over pale pink silk, and she looks bewitching in it.
+
+Eugene is rather puzzled about Mr. Murray at first, but before dinner
+is ended he learns that the bent of the man's mind is business. What
+new project has Floyd on hand? There has been some talk of reopening
+the quarry; at least Floyd has had offers. Or does he mean to build up
+the remainder of Grandon Park?
+
+Violet is in a soft white silk, with some remarkable pearls and opals
+that Floyd has had set for her, and a few magnificent roses. Her color
+and vivacity have come back to her, and as Floyd watches her, a curious
+remembrance seems to dawn on him. Has she not been well of late that
+she has seemed so grave and silent, so pale and sad-eyed? Ever since
+his return she has appeared changed, but now he has his own little
+fairy back again. What charm in Miss Murray has worked the
+transformation? Is it kindred youth and sympathy and pleasure?
+
+Miss Murray and Eugene have been explaining the figures to her, even to
+the extent of practising them in the library, where they idled away
+much of the afternoon.
+
+"You will try it with me?" Eugene pleads. "I know I can find a partner
+for Miss Murray."
+
+"No, you must take Miss Murray; some other time we will--yes, you
+must," peremptorily. "She is my especial guest. I am her chaperone, you
+know, and am duty bound to provide her with the best and handsomest
+partner I can find."
+
+"Do you really think so? Then for the sake of the compliment I must do
+my best."
+
+She smiles upon him, and the young man is unwillingly persuaded. Miss
+Murray cannot remain forever, but Violet is a part of the present life,
+and he does not mean that she shall slip out of his reach. Nothing on
+his part shall crowd her out.
+
+The rooms are lovely, the night and the music enchanting. Violet's face
+grows unconsciously wistful as she listens and watches the dancers
+taking their places. Eugene comes for a word.
+
+"I hate to leave you," he declares. "Are you just going to stand and
+look on?"
+
+She waves him away to his duty, but other eyes note the reluctance.
+
+"Are you not going to allow Mrs. Grandon to dance?" asks madame, in a
+soft, half-reproachful tone. "She stands there looking like a Peri at
+the gate, forbidden to enter youth's paradise."
+
+"She is not forbidden," answers Grandon, quickly, with a nervous sense
+of marital tyranny which he repudiates now and always.
+
+"She is enough to tempt an anchorite," declares Mr. Murray, gallantly.
+"I could sigh for the days of past and gone youth. Have you forsworn
+such gayeties, Grandon? But I need hardly ask a man of your stamp----"
+
+"As we have no advantages of acquiring Germans in deserts," interrupts
+Floyd, with a smile.
+
+"They are the offshoots of civilization," says Latimer, "the superior
+accomplishments of the men who stay at home. With your permission, Mr.
+Grandon, I will induct Mrs. Grandon into the enchanting mystery."
+
+Floyd bows with pleased acquiescence, and conducts Latimer to his wife.
+Her soft, dark eyes express her delight, and something else that he
+wonders about but does not understand.
+
+Madame executes a little manoeuvre which brings them to Miss Murray's
+vicinity. The young girl nods and smiles. She is serenely happy with
+her partner, the handsomest man in the room, and he has been saying
+some extremely pretty things to her.
+
+"You little match-maker," whispers Latimer. "For a first attempt it is
+audacious."
+
+"I have not attempted," and she colors vividly. "How could I know _you_
+would offer, or that Miss Murray would accept such an objectionable
+partner?" she says, archly.
+
+"I suppose I must believe you," slowly, as if he were making an effort,
+while a mirthful smile gleams in his eye. "But in the place of the
+stage father, I 'bless you, my children,'" and he raises his brows,
+indicating the two. "Eugene Grandon's mission in life is to be purely
+ornamental; he must have been born with an incapacity for doing
+anything of any real service to the world, and his manifest destiny is
+to be some rich woman's husband. Now here is an opportunity too good to
+lose. My advice is to go on as you have begun."
+
+"But I have not begun," she says, a little nervously.
+
+"Then I advise you to begin."
+
+The band strikes up a few bars with a preliminary flourish, and the
+music vibrates enchantingly on the summer night air. They take their
+places.
+
+"I shall blunder horribly," Violet insists. "You will soon be ashamed
+of me."
+
+"We will see. Of course if you are dreadful I shall scold you, and tell
+your husband in the bargain. He and Mr. Murray ought to take a turn. I
+have seen men waltz splendidly."
+
+She laughs, then bethinks herself in time to save the undesired
+blunder, and they float gracefully through the first figure. It is
+enchanting. The sunny lustre comes back to Violet's eyes, and her
+cheeks are abloom, her lips part in a half-smile. As she floats down to
+where Mr. Grandon and Mr. Murray stand, her husband takes in the supple
+grace, the happy young face, the half-abandon, and feels that it is the
+right and the power of youth. Has he cut her off from a full
+participation of its pleasures? More than once he has questioned his
+kindness of a year agone.
+
+Mr. Murray is watching his daughter with a vague satisfaction,--his
+little "Polly," as he sometimes calls her, to whom his life is devoted.
+All day he has talked business with Mr. Grandon, and they have gone
+deep into the mysteries of trade and manufacturing. He sees himself
+that the right parties could control vast interests in this matter.
+When his friend George Haviland returns from Europe, a few weeks later,
+a decision will be made, for he understands how troublesome the matter
+is to Grandon, and how anxious he is to have his father's estate
+settled. If these two young people should choose to settle another
+point? He must inquire into the young man's character and habits; but
+if Mr. Floyd Grandon is a sample of the manhood of the family, there
+can be no trouble on that score. Grandon Park is aristocratic,
+undeniably elegant, and, so far as he can see, less given to "shoddy"
+than many of the new places.
+
+The evening is perfection to those who dance and full of enjoyment to
+those who do not. There are card-tables, and a disused conservatory is
+transformed into a luxurious smoking-room, from which the mazy winding
+German can be seen. There are no wall-flowers, no dissatisfied young
+women with scorn-tipped noses, and the promenaders, mostly married
+guests, are well paired. Mr. Murray, who has seen society almost
+everywhere, is charmed with this.
+
+"What a magnificent woman Madame Lepelletier is," he says to Grandon.
+"We have some friends who met her in New York last winter, and I do not
+wonder at their enthusiasm. I little thought I should have the
+pleasure. There are not many of our countrywomen who could give so
+charming an evening."
+
+Grandon is pleased with the praise. His eyes follow the regal woman.
+
+"If I had been in his place I would have made a bid for her," says Mr.
+Murray to himself, and he wonders what induced Grandon to marry such a
+child as Miss St. Vincent must have been a year ago.
+
+After the supper there is some miscellaneous dancing, a few new steps
+the younger portion are desirous of trying, and a waltz that delights
+Violet, since she has her husband for a partner. She is full of
+pleasurable excitement, and seems alive with some electric power. He
+goes back to their first waltz; what is it that has fallen between and
+made a little coldness? Why does he study her now with such questioning
+eyes, and why is she, with all her brilliance, less tender than a month
+or two ago? That quaint little touch of entire dependence has merged
+into a peculiar strength, and she seems quite capable of standing
+alone. He is strangely roused, piqued as it were.
+
+Violet has been studying a rather ponderous subject for a ball-room,
+and she is somewhat elated at having arrived at a conclusion unaided,
+except by the trifling suggestion Mr. Latimer has thrown out. It was
+Mr. Murray whom Mr. Grandon had some business with awhile ago; she
+remembers seeing his name in a letter. His friend went to Europe, and
+this is the Mr. Haviland they talk about. She can almost guess the
+rest. How odd if Eugene should marry into the new business house, as
+his brother married the daughter of a member of the old one. Violet
+resolves that he shall love her. She is sweet and engaging and quite
+captivated by him, as is evident by her girlish frankness and
+admiration.
+
+The two go up-stairs together, while the gentlemen indulge in a last
+cigar.
+
+"It was delightful!" Miss Murray says. "Why, I never saw anything
+really lovelier at Newport, though there is more magnificence. And Mr.
+Grandon's dancing is perfection. I never enjoyed a partner better. How
+very handsome he is! I _was_ envied," she cries, with eager delight; "I
+saw it in the eyes of the other girls. Tell me if you think he is given
+to flirting; but you know girls _do_ run after such a handsome young
+fellow! I never should," she declares, naively. "Oh, Miss Brade has
+asked us to lawn tennis to-morrow, with tea and a little dancing in the
+evening! And if you want to give _me_ a pleasure," she adds, with a
+seductive smile, "let it be a German. I do adore Germans."
+
+She kisses Violet good night in a sweet, girlish way, and her last
+thought is of Eugene Grandon's handsome face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+"And what's the thing beneath the skies
+We two would most forget?"
+
+
+Lucia Brade comes over the next morning and renews her invitation to
+the rather impromptu lawn tennis, including Violet.
+
+"Of course you will go," decides Miss Murray, persuasively, for she
+must have some one to keep her in countenance with this attractive
+young man.
+
+It proves rather dull for Violet, though Eugene insists upon giving her
+a few lessons, and she feels really interested, but she does not want
+to detach him from Miss Murray. The supper is out of doors and is
+undeniably gay. Violet obligingly plays most of the evening,
+accompanied by a violin. She has discussed the German with Lucia, and
+that evening lays it before her husband.
+
+"Of course," he answers, indulgently. "Let it be Tuesday evening. I
+wish Eugene would attend to it."
+
+Eugene is elated at being master of ceremonies. They write
+invitations,--just a young people's party in honor of Miss Murray. Of
+course madame must be included.
+
+"I don't see why," says Eugene.
+
+"I think Mr. Grandon would rather," Violet replies, with a faint touch
+of entreaty.
+
+Miss Murray studies on this problem, and afterwards says privately to
+Eugene, "If I was Mrs. Grandon I should be jealous of that superb
+woman. Why, she looks as if she could beguile any one."
+
+"Floyd isn't the kind to be beguiled, you see," and he gives a short
+laugh, but presently admits the old fancy between them.
+
+"Well," says Miss Murray, plaintively, "it _was_ something to be a
+countess. Still, I couldn't give up the man I loved. I wonder--if he at
+all resembled you when he was that young?"
+
+"No, indeed," and Eugene assumes an air of serene audacity. "The family
+beauty was kept inviolate for my sister Laura and your humble servant."
+
+The baby blue eyes have a look of admiration that is extremely
+gratifying to the young man's vanity.
+
+The three are deeply engrossed day and evening with pleasures of all
+sorts. Pauline Murray takes them with a zest that quite repays her
+pretty hostess.
+
+"Your sister-in-law is the sweetest little body in the world!" she
+declares, enthusiastically. "It is quite ridiculous to think of her
+being step-mother to that lovely Cecil. I wouldn't be called mamma!
+Fancy Mrs. Grandon taking her into society a few years hence. Why, they
+will look like sisters."
+
+"Of course," answers Eugene, tartly. "Only an idiot would imagine it a
+real relationship."
+
+"Was she very much in love with him?" Miss Murray asks, innocently.
+
+"I don't know," returns Eugene, rather impatiently. "I was away when it
+happened. I think the marriage was hurried a little on account of Mr.
+St. Vincent's illness."
+
+Pauline Murray speculates. Eugene is very fond of his pretty
+sister-in-law.
+
+"Do you always go out together?"
+
+"Go out together?" he repeats, with a show of anger. "Why, we never do.
+At least I never took her to but one party,--my sister's,--and then
+Floyd was in Baltimore."
+
+"He and papa went to see Mr. Haviland, who was going to Europe." Miss
+Murray studies him with her innocent baby eyes. Already she is wise in
+the lore of women's ways, especially young married women who make a bid
+for the attention of gentlemen. But she has to admit that Mrs. Grandon
+is very generous of her brother-in-law, and the most delightful
+chaperone.
+
+Marcia and Mr. Wilmarth have been to Canada for a week, and return in
+time to be invited to the garden party, which Floyd honestly regrets.
+True, no business plans have been agreed upon; when Mr. Haviland comes
+back, if a formal offer can be made, it will be time to explain.
+
+Eugene and Miss Murray have made the garden party as perfect as zest
+and large opportunity could avail. The dancing is to be a German,
+principally, but here they have not madame's experience in selecting
+and arranging partners. Miss Murray does not mind, since she has
+secured Eugene. With all her watching she cannot detect any especial
+fondness on the part of pretty Mrs. Floyd.
+
+Violet is oddly consequential as a chaperone. She has never taken such
+warm interest in pleasures, and it becomes her youth and vivacity. She
+is bright and charming, with a touch of authority here and there that
+renders her quite bewitching.
+
+Yet she has been thinking all this time of her own lot. Had she been
+alone she would no doubt have brooded over it despondently; but Miss
+Murray's almost volatile nature kindles the philosophy of hers. She
+knows now that Floyd Grandon did not marry her for love, that he did
+not even profess to, and that in most marriages there is at least a
+profession of love at the beginning, and it is very sweet. Even such
+half-jesting love as these two young people make unblushingly before
+her face, in the naughty audacity of youth, is delightful. Mr. Grandon
+could never do or say such things; he is too grave and sensible.
+
+The house and lawn are lighted up again. There are elegant young men
+and diaphanous fairies; there is music and dancing; there is nectar and
+ambrosia and general satisfaction. Violet is too busy to dance,
+although if she had but known her husband was foolish enough to long to
+try the seductive atmosphere with her, she would not have been so
+resolute. Everybody looks happy and content.
+
+"Polly," Mr. Murray says, the next morning, at the late breakfast, "we
+must be considering our departure. I shall have to go to New York. What
+part of the earth will it be your pleasure to visit next?"
+
+"Oh," ejaculates Miss Murray, with a regretful emphasis, "the mail has
+not come in yet?"
+
+"It has not come down. Briggs will be here presently with all personal
+matters."
+
+Even as he speaks, the supple young fellow, with his well-trained
+deference, comes in with a budget of letters.
+
+"Hillo!" exclaims Murray, glancing up. "Why, Haviland will be back in
+about a fortnight! See here, Grandon, can you run out to Chicago with
+me? The word is favorable, I must go to the city to-day, Polly."
+
+"Why not let Miss Murray remain here, if she is not homesick?" says
+Grandon.
+
+Pauline Murray's eyes light up with an expression quite the reverse of
+homesickness.
+
+"I am afraid we shall trespass on a most generous hospitality."
+
+Violet seconds her husband's request. They were to take in Long Branch
+as they went down, but it will be out of season now, and Pauline must
+go to her aunt at Baltimore or remain with some friend until the
+business is settled. So the Grandons' invitation is cordially accepted.
+
+Mr. Murray spends the next two days in the city, while Mr. Grandon is
+busy with his own affairs, as on the evening of the third they are to
+start for Chicago. He finds his daughter serenely happy and not yet at
+the end of pleasures.
+
+"But I think you had better be careful about the young man, Polly,"
+says her father, as they are promenading the lawn at the river's edge,
+in confidential chat.
+
+"Be careful!" Miss Murray's fair face is a vivid scarlet, and she fans
+herself violently with her chip hat, as if overcome with the heat.
+
+"Yes, he is a handsome young man, but----"
+
+"And he is pleasant, he has a lovely temper, and--and--I don't know why
+you should find fault with him, papa," she answers, warmly.
+
+"Why, I have not found fault with him"; and there is a funny twinkle in
+her father's eye.
+
+"When people say 'but' it always seems like finding fault," says Miss
+Murray, resentfully.
+
+"Well, don't _you_ break the young man's heart. I have a regard for him
+myself."
+
+Pauline Murray laughs lightly.
+
+"And keep your own in a good condition," advises her father.
+
+But as they stand together on the porch bidding him good by, they
+appear quite to belong to each other. Mr. Murray understands him pretty
+well. He has no great inclination for business, but he seems to have no
+special vices, and can be easily governed by a liberal indulgence in
+money matters. There might be worse sons-in-law. The Grandons are a
+good old family, and carry weight, and Mr. Murray, whose taste is
+altogether for manufacturing, fancies he sees in this business both
+interest and profit. So if Polly and the young man decide to like each
+other--
+
+Eugene Grandon would no doubt fly out indignantly if he fancied his
+matrimonial matters were being settled by older and as they think wiser
+heads. For once he is fortunately blind. He likes Pauline Murray
+because, if she is not the rose, she brings the scent of it continually
+within his reach. Every day Violet grows more charming and the distance
+between them lessens. He thinks nothing now of looking her up, of
+following her about, of planning drives and walks, and while the heads
+are away, he is cavalier to both ladies. They discuss various tender
+points and come to love. Eugene no longer sneers and treats it lightly.
+Violet is touched by the gentle lowering of tone, the faint hesitation,
+the softness that comes and goes over his face, the dreamy smile, the
+far light in his eyes, as if his brain was richly satisfied with some
+vision. This is love, she thinks, exultantly. Mr. and Mrs. Latimer must
+have had just this blessed experience, but no other marriage, not even
+Gertrude's, comes up to her ideal. And to think that hundreds must go
+through the world without this greatest, finest of all joys. She pities
+them, she pities herself profoundly. There are moments when it seems as
+if she must throw herself at her husband's feet and tell him that she
+is famishing for this divine food. And yet in their brief seasons
+together she grows cold, distant, afraid. She cannot even feel as she
+did when her ankle was hurt and he so tenderly indulgent. She esteemed
+that as love, but she knows better now, sad, sad wisdom!
+
+Yet there is something fascinating in this double life she leads. It
+must be what people take when their great hopes are gone. The
+diversions of society, the threads of others' lives, the curious,
+dangerous study of the feelings and emotions of those about her. Only a
+year ago she was such an ignorant little body, now she is so wise, and
+she sighs over it.
+
+The days are crowded full of enjoyment. Mrs. Latimer gives the
+loveliest tea and the most enchanting _musicale_ with amateurs. Violet
+is asked to play, and proposes that Eugene and Miss Murray distinguish
+themselves in a duet from "Don Pasquale," which they sing admirably.
+Pauline Murray has a soprano voice, with brilliant execution.
+
+"I do believe," exclaims Mrs. Latimer, studying Violet, "that you will
+equal madame as a society woman. I am not sure that I shall admire the
+cultivated pansy as much as the shy, sweet wood violet, but perhaps it
+is better. We women with distinguished husbands must keep pace in
+attractiveness, or the world will take them from us in its sweeping
+admiration."
+
+"I never did have such a lovely time!" Pauline Murray says, after the
+_musicale_. "And you know I never should have thought of Robin Adair
+for an _encore_ if it had not been for Eugene." She has come to the
+young man's Christian name. "Wasn't it a perfect success? I never sang
+it so well in my life. If papa could have heard it!" And she hums over
+a stanza,--
+
+    "After the ball was o'er
+    What made my heart so sore--"
+
+Some tears fill Violet's eyes and she turns away. Then, lest her
+emotion shall make her appear ungracious, she praises liberally.
+
+Days and nights seem to have wings. The travellers return, and Mr.
+Haviland, back from Europe, comes up to Grandon Park. The gentlemen
+retire to the tower and discuss business over cigars, and the result is
+an offer for all right and title to the interest of Grandon & Co. left
+by James Grandon to his family, and for Mr. St. Vincent's patent. The
+last is so liberal that Floyd accepts at once; the rest must be
+considered by the parties concerned, but it has the consent and advice
+of Floyd Grandon and Mr. Connery.
+
+It is late when the conclave breaks up, but Grandon goes up-stairs with
+a lighter heart than he has carried in many a long day. He has hardly
+dared to believe in this conclusion, and there will no doubt be some
+hard fighting before the matter is ended, but he indulges in a long,
+exultant breath of freedom. His life will be his own henceforward.
+
+Passing through Cecil's room, he finds both heads on one pillow. Violet
+has waked Cecil with her good-night kiss, and the exigeant child has
+prisoned her with two soft arms and drawn her close to her own pink
+cheek and rosy, fragrant lips. They seem like a picture, gold and
+chestnut hair intermingled, complexion of pearl, and the other of
+creamy tints, soft as a sun-ripe peach. She has fallen asleep there, as
+she so often does, for youth and health defy carking cares. How lovely
+they are! Floyd Grandon suddenly counts himself a happy man, and yet he
+does not waken her with the kisses he longs to shower on brow and cheek
+and lip. If he did, how brave she would be for the temptation of
+to-morrow.
+
+After breakfast Floyd summons his mother and Eugene into the library.
+Lucia Brade calls in her pony phaeton and entices Pauline, who is
+always ready for a pleasure. Violet flutters about her room, sends
+Cecil and Jane out for a constitutional, and then picks up a book.
+Summer is on the wane, and the air has a fragrance of ripening grapes,
+sun-warmed fruit, and the luxurious sweetness of madeira-blooms. The
+voices from the library touch her faintly. Mrs. Grandon's has a high,
+aggressive swell now and then, and Eugene's drops to that sort of
+sullen key she knows so well in the past. What is taking place? Will
+there be some new trouble for Floyd?
+
+She walks down to the summer-house from some half-defined, delicate
+motive. After a while the three gentlemen go away, Floyd giving a
+questioning glance around. She drops her book on her knee and lapses
+into a wondering mood, when a step breaks her revery.
+
+Eugene is flushed and angry, yet it does not make him the less
+handsome, though it is very different from his usual indolent ease.
+
+"What is the matter?" she asks, for form's sake, for she almost knows.
+
+"Matter!" and he kicks viciously at a pebble that has dared to rear its
+head in the smooth walk, sending it over on the grassy lawn. "The
+matter is that Floyd is selling us all out with a high hand. That is
+what Murray's visit and all this going to and fro mean. He has had an
+offer, and he doesn't care for anything so long as _you_ come out on
+the topmost round."
+
+"I?" Violet flushes and her eyes grow moist.
+
+"Well, it isn't your fault, after all, and one need not grudge you
+anything," he says, strangely moved. "Yes, these men want to buy out
+the whole thing, and you'll have a private fortune of your own that
+will be stunning! Floyd isn't green at bargain-making. Now they have
+gone over to tackle Wilmarth, and a sweet time they will have of it. I
+should like to see the fun. But what am I to do afterward?" and he
+studies the greensward gloomily.
+
+"You?" she repeats, and the matter settles itself beautifully to her
+vision. "Why, you will marry Miss Pauline Murray."
+
+"Marry!" Eugene strides up and down with a grim sense of the irony of
+fate. Once he was asked to marry Miss St. Vincent to save his fortune,
+now it is Miss Murray. He is a part of the business, to be bandied
+about and knocked down to the highest bidder.
+
+"You do love her?"
+
+Violet says this with the rarest, tenderest entreaty.
+
+"Love her? No, I do not." He comes nearer to Violet with his eyes
+aflame, his face pale, and his lips savagely compressed. "Have _you_
+been so blind? Did that show deceive you? Why, you must guess, you must
+know it is you and not she whom I love."
+
+Violet sits astounded. She is too much amazed even to resent this.
+Surely he cannot have been so deceitful, so false-hearted.
+
+"You like me," she begins, tremulously, "and I am your sister, your
+brother's wife----"
+
+"And you might have been mine! It maddens me when I think of it."
+
+"And it humiliates me."
+
+"Oh, my darling, you must forgive it!" and Eugene throws himself at her
+feet. "If I could have seen you, could have known you----"
+
+"You did not like me when you first saw me," she interrupts, with quiet
+dignity.
+
+"No, because I held to an obstinate, hateful prejudice! But when I came
+to know you----"
+
+"And through all this time, Eugene, you have been offering a false
+admiration to Miss Murray," she continues, with a grave, sad demeanor,
+"and you have been thinking of me in a manner that will make me despise
+myself forever. How do you suppose I shall meet Mr. Grandon's eyes?"
+
+"As if he cared! Oh, you know he doesn't, Violet. That is the wretched
+part of it all."
+
+She turns so pale and sways to and fro in her willow chair, like a
+lily, when something has struck the stem but not broken it off, her
+lips and pretty dimpled chin quivering, as if in an ague, her eyes
+strained, imploring. To be told of that. To have no power to deny it.
+
+"I am his wife," she says, and she tries to rise but falls back.
+
+"Oh, my poor girl, my miserable little darling, don't I know that! But,
+see here, Violet, I'm not a villain if I am an unfortunate wretch. I
+never thought of any wrong or harm; you are too dear to me, you are
+like some sweet little baby that a man wants to take in his arms and
+kiss and comfort and hold forever. That is how you ought to be loved.
+But I know a good deal better than you that going off and setting one's
+self up against the law and society and respect, kills a woman. There
+isn't any love worth such a sacrifice; only--I wish I had come to know
+you well before you belonged to any one. And you ought to give me some
+credit that I never made a fool of myself or did a single act that
+Floyd mightn't see. You've been to me like a little angel. See here,
+you are worth ten of Madame Lepelletier, with all her beauty. Why
+didn't Floyd marry _her_? She has about as much real soul as he."
+
+"Oh, don't!" she cries, in the depths of her anguish. "You wrong him.
+You can never know how gentle and kind he was when papa died, and how
+good he has always been to me. I am not so beautiful and fascinating,
+or learned like Mrs. Latimer, but Cecil loves me."
+
+She is crying now, not in any great sobs, but her eyes are wind-blown
+lakes of crystal tears whose tide overflows. She has fallen back on the
+one great comfort, the one pearl saved from the wrecked argosy.
+
+"A man who could be cruel to you ought to be hanged!" he says,
+passionately, and her tears move him beyond description. "Floyd isn't
+cruel; he is simply cold, indifferent. Oh, my poor little girl, how can
+I comfort you?"
+
+"You cannot comfort me," she says, drearily. "I read a long while ago,
+in the convent,--I think it was,--that it is not given to every one to
+be happy, that one can be upright and honest and pure, and do one's
+duty, but that happiness is a blessing of God that is given or withheld,
+and we must not waver on that account. Now let me go, and you must never
+again say any of these things to me."
+
+She rises feebly, but he is still on the floor of the summer-house at
+her feet. Something about her awes him; he is vain and weak and fond of
+trying on emotions, he has little sense of present responsibility, but,
+as he has said, he does love her, and it is perhaps the best experience
+of his whole life. A weak or silly woman would have dragged him down in
+spite of his worldly common-sense, but she seems to stir the manliness
+within him. At this instant he could really lay down his life for her;
+it is the one supreme moment of his indolent, vacillating manhood.
+
+"I have made you still more miserable," he cries, remorsefully. "Oh,
+what shall I do! Why is it that you may know a thing in secret all your
+life, and yet the moment you speak of it, it is all wrong? I oughtn't
+have said a word, and yet it doesn't really make anything different.
+See, I haven't so much as touched your hand; you _are_ different from
+other women, you are like a pure little angel shut in a niche. And I
+mean to do whatever will make you happiest. If you would like me to
+marry Miss Murray----"
+
+"Oh," she sighs with a great gasp, "don't marry any woman unless you
+love her!"
+
+He rises then, though he still stands in the doorway. "Forgive me for
+being such a brute," he implores. "I shall never hurt or offend you
+again. I would give my right hand to see you happy. You must, you do
+believe this!"
+
+"I believe it," she says, and they look into each other's eyes. A great
+crisis has come and gone, they both think, a lightning flash that has
+revealed so much, and then shut again in blackness. Could she have
+loved him? she wonders.
+
+She walks slowly towards the house, and going to her room throws
+herself on the lounge, pressing her throbbing temple upon the pillow.
+All the wretchedness of her life seems to have culminated, the little
+doubts she has thrust out or tried to overlive. Somehow she appears to
+have worked a great and unwitting change in the Grandon family. Once,
+when Denise was in a discursive mood, she told Violet of Mr. Wilmarth's
+proposal of marriage. What if she had married _him_? Violet thinks now.
+Marcia talks about her "Vulcan" with a curious pride, and he certainly
+is indulgent. In that case Violet would have marred no lives.
+
+A soft rustle comes up the stairs, and she knows who stands in the
+doorway.
+
+"Oh, are you ill?" Miss Murray kneels by the couch and tosses her hat
+aside. "How pale and wretched you look! Does your head ache?"
+
+"Yes," Violet admits.
+
+"And you were so well this morning! Where is everybody? What has become
+of Eugene?"
+
+"They have all been talking business," says Violet, "and have gone----"
+
+"I suppose Mr. Grandon told you long ago, like a good husband, but you
+have been very discreet. Papa and Mr. Haviland are to take the
+business, and I suppose I shall come to live at Grandon Park. I just
+adore it! I never had so nice a time anywhere. Did Eugene go with
+them?" abruptly flying round to the subject of most importance to her.
+
+"I think not," Violet says, slowly.
+
+"Let me bathe your forehead"; and the soft fingers touch her gently.
+"Now, if I shut out the sun you may fall asleep. Don't get really ill!"
+
+"I shall soon be better," Violet returns, faintly.
+
+Miss Murray glides down-stairs, searches the porch, the summer-house,
+and the shady clump of trees. There is no Eugene visible. None of the
+gentlemen are home to lunch, but there are some calls to break the
+afternoon silence. Mrs. Grandon drives out. Violet has dressed herself
+and comes down, wan and white, making a pretext with some embroidery.
+Cecil is to take tea with Elsie Latimer, a regular weekly invitation.
+
+Pauline Murray fidgets. Her father has imparted some other knowledge,
+confidentially, that he shall not object to the young man for a
+son-in-law if his daughter so wills. She has stoutly declared that she
+does not mean to marry anybody, and her father has laughed, but a whole
+day without Eugene seems interminable. She has asked about him at least
+a dozen times. An awful fear fills Violet's soul. Is it right that
+Eugene should marry her with no real love in his heart for her? and if
+he does not--how will she take it? He _has_ been tender and lover-like,
+but how much of it was meant? Oh, why is the world all in a tangle? Her
+heart beats and her pulses throb, her lips are dry and feverish, and
+she has a presentiment of some ill or trouble to come. How will she
+meet Mr. Grandon? When she thinks of him she feels like a traitor.
+
+The three return together, but Floyd goes to the stable to see about
+one of the carriage-horses slightly lamed, and when he comes Mr.
+Haviland sits talking to Violet. Mr. Haviland is older than Mr. Murray,
+a tall, rather spare man, with gray hair and close-cropped gray beard,
+that give him a military air. A little color comes into her face, and
+Grandon remarks nothing amiss; indeed, she looks very pretty and
+interesting, as she sits talking of her father.
+
+"Where is Eugene?" he asks presently, as he sees Mr. Murray and his
+daughter walking in the grounds.
+
+It seems to Violet as if she must scream. Is _she_ his brother's
+keeper? Oh, what if--and it seems as if she must faint dead away at the
+horrible suspicion that he may never come back. No wonder her voice is
+tremulous. But even as she gasps for breath Eugene appears around the
+winding walk, and she is reprieved.
+
+"What is the matter?" Floyd Grandon asks, startled by all these
+changes.
+
+"My head aches."
+
+"I thought Mrs. Grandon looked pale," says Mr. Haviland.
+
+Miss Murray has caught sight of Eugene and waves a square of lace sewn
+around a centre of puzzling monogram. He has been desperate, moody,
+savage, and repentant by turns. He has meant to kneel at Violet's feet
+and confess his sins, and never love any other woman while the breath
+of life is in his handsome body. But the first is utterly
+impracticable, and after having been Miss Murray's devoted cavalier he
+cannot snub her in the face of all these eyes. He waves his hand and
+turns toward them, feeling that Violet is watching him and positively
+impelling him to this step; so he goes on and on to meet his fate. The
+cordial greeting of Mr. Murray, who thinks none the worse of him for
+his outburst of the morning, in a few words restores the easy footing
+of yesterday. Pauline smiles with winning tenderness; it does almost
+seem as if he was being crowded out of his rights, and there is enough
+to make amends. He sees it all; what does it matter? One never comes up
+to any high ideals, and ideals are for the most part tiresome,
+unattainable.
+
+When the first bell rings they saunter up the path, Miss Murray on
+Eugene's arm. Her eyes have a kind of exultant softness; she has
+misread the pain and pallor of his face and her power of bringing back
+its warm, joyous tints, but ignorance is bliss. Violet looks up and
+meets the dark, questioning eyes, with their half-resolve, and Floyd
+Grandon intercepts it all. Why does she turn so deadly pale?
+
+He says something about making ready for dinner, and they all go
+up-stairs, leaving her with Cecil. She has that curious, transfixed
+feeling, as though when she moved she was in a dream. Floyd Grandon has
+seen her sad, shy, quiet, gay, joyous, and in almost every mood but
+this. What is it? he wonders. Eugene's eyes wander stealthily now and
+then, and when she catches them a shiver goes over her.
+
+To-night Cecil is unusually wakeful and very amusing to Mr. Murray.
+They all sit on the porch and discuss business. Mr. Wilmarth is likely
+to make a good deal of trouble. To-morrow, it seems, they are to meet
+at the lawyer's and the matter is to be put in process of settlement.
+The new partners are in haste to get to work.
+
+At last Violet is glad to rise and bid them good evening. Mr. Murray
+finally obtains a kiss from Cecil, and is triumphant over so rare a
+victory.
+
+At the top of the stairs a hand is laid on Violet's arm.
+
+"It was fate," pleads Eugene, weakly, "and your wish. I saw it in your
+eyes."
+
+"Love her," she answers, with a convulsive shiver,--"love her with your
+whole soul."
+
+Floyd Grandon knows who entered the hall a moment ago and who now
+emerges in the soft light.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+You have heard with what toil Secunder penetrated to the land of
+darkness, and that, after all, he did not taste the water of
+immortality.--SAADI.
+
+
+The three men talk late. The two young people on the porch have no
+duenna, for Mrs. Grandon retired early,--indeed, she has left Miss
+Murray quite to Violet, and she thinks if Eugene lets slip this chance
+he will be foolish above what is written. He plays at love,--it is no
+new thing for him,--but he convinces "Polly" without any actual
+questions and answers that he cares for her, and the next morning there
+is a delicate little triumph in her demeanor, a tender overflow of
+pity, as if, after all, she might not take him, and then he would be
+heart-broken.
+
+Violet is much better. She thrusts her secret out of sight, and Floyd
+is brief and business-like, something more, but he would be much too
+proud to own it.
+
+"Violet," he says, "you must go to Mr. Sherburne's with me this
+morning. Your father deputed that gentleman and myself to act in your
+behalf if at any time we should have an offer to dispose of his
+inventions. His dream has been more than realized, and I am glad to
+have it go into the hands of men who will do justice to it. I shall
+also dispose of the share in the factory, and that part will be
+settled."
+
+"Eugene----" she says, with a certain tremulousness, and she cannot
+keep the color out of her face. "Will he be--will----"
+
+"I have advised Eugene to dispose of his part. He has no head, no
+desire, and no ambition for business. But whatever he does, it is now
+in my power to settle my father's estate, and I shall be glad to do
+it."
+
+There is a discernible hardness in his voice. She seems to shrink a
+little from him, and he feels strangely resentful.
+
+Mrs. Grandon has a talk with her son before he goes. The new firm have
+made her an offer to pay down a certain amount, or, if she insists, the
+stated income shall be kept for the present.
+
+"I certainly should take their offer," says Floyd. "Your income will
+not be as large, but on the one hand it would die with you, and on the
+other you are more independent. I will add to it ten thousand dollars."
+
+"You are very kind," she says, with a touch of gratitude. "But Eugene
+will be thrown out of business, and your father _did_ hope it would
+remain in the family. He was so proud of his standing."
+
+"I have counselled and besought Eugene, and it is pouring water in a
+sieve."
+
+"He should have married Violet," she says, in a tone that avenges
+madame. "If you had waited----"
+
+Floyd is deathly pale for an instant. If he _had_ waited. If this
+useless money could belong to Eugene.
+
+"You will be ready this afternoon," and he leaves the room.
+
+Has he defrauded his brother? He could have held out a hope to the
+dying man and temporized. As his ward, Eugene might have come to admire
+her, or been tempted by the fortune. He hates himself that he can put
+her in any scale with mere money, and yet, does she not care for
+Eugene? What has the varying moods of the last six weeks meant, if not
+that? What the little interchange of glances last night? Curiously
+enough, Mr. Murray is quite taken with Eugene. Perhaps the elder
+brother does not do full justice to the fascinations of the younger.
+Has he been too tried and vexed and suspected, until his whole nature
+is warped and soured? Perhaps he is unfit for civilization, for
+domestic life in the realms of culture and fashion, and he wishes with
+much bitterness of spirit that he was back in his congenial wilds and
+deserts.
+
+Violet is waiting for him, attired faultlessly. She looks pale and
+troubled, he can see that, and the sweet, frank expression with which
+she has always challenged his glance is no longer there. It is not
+altogether suspicion, but she really _does_ evade his glance. She has
+the miserable secret of a third person, that, if known, might work
+incalculable harm, and she must keep it sacred. Beside, she is training
+herself to believe that Eugene will recover from his ill-fated passion
+and truly love Pauline Murray.
+
+"Are you ready?" Grandon briefly asks, and hands her to the carriage.
+The drive is quite silent. They find all the parties engaged at Mr.
+Sherburne's, and proceed at once to business. On behalf of Messrs.
+Haviland and Murray the offer is made for all right and title possessed
+by Violet St. Vincent Grandon, and by Floyd Grandon, her husband, in
+all interests, inventions, etc., with much legal verbiage that alike
+confuses and interests Violet. But the sum offered seems enormous to
+her! She gazes blankly from one to another, as she hears again that all
+income thereof is to be hers, that no one can touch the principal until
+she is twenty-five, that it is settled solely upon her and her children
+forever.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaims, with a vague glance at her husband, but his face is
+absolutely impassible.
+
+Mr. Sherburne takes her into his private office and questions her after
+the usual formula as to whether force or persuasion or bribes have been
+used, and whether she does all this of her free consent, and smiles a
+little at her utter innocence. It is well she and her fortune are in
+the hands of a man of such perfect integrity as Floyd Grandon. Then
+they both sign all necessary papers, and the morning's work is
+completed. Violet goes home, a rich woman beyond any doubt or question,
+but a very miserable one. She would like to give at least half the
+money to Eugene, but she does not dare make the least proposal. She
+feels afraid of Floyd Grandon's steady, searching eyes.
+
+In the afternoon she and Pauline are left together, but the lawyers
+have a rather stormier session than in the morning. Mrs. Grandon has a
+vague suspicion that Eugene will come out of this much worsted. He will
+spend his money and there will be nothing left. The young man is in a
+curious mood. He is well aware that he never can or will confine
+himself to business routine, that he is the product of the
+nineteenth-century civilization, termed a gentleman, rather useless, it
+may be, but decidedly ornamental.
+
+The showing of the last nine months has been profitable beyond
+expectation. It is true there has been no income used for family
+expenses, and the legacies can be paid. Mrs. Grandon finally decides to
+dispose of her claim, and everything is adjusted for the law's
+inspection, approval, and ultimate signature. Floyd Grandon has
+redeemed his trust, has obeyed his dead father's wishes, and
+circumstances have proved that the dying man did not over-estimate the
+worth of what he was leaving. But it has been a severe and distasteful
+duty, and only the closest attention, the best judgment, and most wary
+perseverance, have saved the family from ruin. He gives his advisers
+full credit for their help and sympathy; but it has been a great
+strain, and he is immensely relieved. The dissolution of the old firm
+and the arrangement of the new one are matters for time, but happily he
+will be out of that. Wilmarth and Eugene take the first, and the others
+are quite capable of managing the last. He has a secret pity for
+Wilmarth, and yet he knows he has been Eugene's worst enemy, that he
+would not have scrupled at any ruin to attain his end. That he is
+Marcia's husband he must always regret, and they have not yet reached
+the end of dissensions.
+
+Eugene drives slowly homeward, ruminating many matters. He has his
+college education and various accomplishments, and in the course of a
+month or so will have some money. He has no more taste for a profession
+than for business; and though various phases of speculation look
+tempting, he is well aware that he has not the brains to compete with
+the trained athletes in this department. He can marry Pauline Murray,
+and he will, no doubt, end by marrying some rich woman. He looks
+covetously at Violet's fortune and calls himself hard names, but that
+is plainly out of his reach. He could love Violet so dearly, with such
+passion and fervor, but it is too late, and he sighs. She would like
+him to marry Miss Murray; he will please her and Polly, who is
+undeniably charming, and do extremely well for himself. Why not, then?
+He cannot hang here on Floyd forever.
+
+Polly is wandering through the grounds in the late summer afternoon,
+her blue-lined parasol making an azure sky over her golden head, her
+white dress draping her slender figure in a strikingly statuesque way.
+She is the kind of girl to madden men and win admiration on the right
+hand and on the left, and he _does_ like the women on whom the world
+sets a signet of approval. No sweet domestic drudge for him, and if
+Violet _has_ a fault, it is this tendency. When a man begins to
+discover flaws in his ideal the enchantment is weakening.
+
+He saunters up to her, and she blushes, while a touch of delight gleams
+in her eye.
+
+"Do you know," he begins, in a melancholy tone, "that I have sold my
+birthright, but not for a mess of cabbages, as the camp-meeting brother
+called it."
+
+They both laugh,--Polly with a mirthful ring, Eugene lazily.
+
+"And now I must take my bag of gold on one end of a stick and my best
+clothes done up in a bundle on the other, and go out to the new
+Territories. A young man grows up governor or senator, or some great
+personage there. I think it must be in the atmosphere,--ozone or odyle,
+what is it?"
+
+She laughs again, a pleasant sound to hear. He is so very handsome in
+this mock-plaintive mood, with his beseeching eyes.
+
+"You know I ought to do the world some good."
+
+"Yes. And the Presidents come from the West. I would rather be a
+President."
+
+"Oh, you couldn't, you know"; and he laughs again. "Is there nothing
+else that would satisfy your ambition?"
+
+"Nothing!" She seems to shake a shower of gold out of the waving hair
+on her brow.
+
+"Nothing," he repeats, disconsolately. "Then I may as well go. You see
+before you a struggling but worthy young man, born to a better
+heritage, but cruel fate----"
+
+"Well, cruel fate," she says, as if prompting him.
+
+He turns, and she blushes vividly. He bends lower until the warm cheek,
+soft as a girl's, touches hers, and the lips meet. Then he draws her
+arm through his, and takes her parasol.
+
+"I wonder," he says, presently, "if I could get enough together to buy
+you of your father? Might I try?"
+
+"You mercenary wretch!" she cries, but the tone is delicious.
+
+"See here," he says, "some fellows have the cheek to ask such a gift
+for just nothing at all. I rate you more highly."
+
+That is very sweet flattery. Her eyes droop and the color comes and
+goes.
+
+"You might ask him," she says, in a tone of irresistible fascination,
+"but I do not believe you will have _quite_ enough."
+
+"Then I shall start for Dakota."
+
+They ramble up and down, and Eugene allows himself to sup of delight.
+Does it make so much difference, after all, whom he marries? Polly is
+very charming and her lips are like rose-leaves. She loves him also,
+and she isn't the kind to bore a man.
+
+Late that evening Violet steals out on the porch for a breath of the
+dewy air. Cecil has been wakeful and the stories almost endless. Floyd
+has not come home to dinner, and she feels strangely nervous.
+
+Eugene has some idle moments on his hands.
+
+"Come down the walk!" he exclaims, "I have something to tell you"; and
+he draws her gently toward him, taking the limp hand in his. As they go
+down in the light Floyd Grandon turns into the broad avenue, unseen by
+either.
+
+"Well, I have done it," Eugene begins. "If I am miserable for life it
+will be your fault."
+
+The treacherous wind carries back the last, and Floyd hears it
+distinctly in one of those electric moods that could translate a quiver
+in the air.
+
+They are too far away for her answer.
+
+"You will _not_ be miserable," she says, firmly. "No man could be
+miserable with Pauline Murray, if he did his duty and tried, _tried_
+with his very soul to the uttermost. And you will, you will."
+
+Eugene Grandon has an insincere nature, while hers is like crystal. He
+is extremely fond of sympathy from women, and her urgent tone makes him
+seem a sort of hero to himself. If he must endeavor earnestly, there is
+something to be overcome, and that is his love for her. The pendulum
+vibrates back to it.
+
+"I shall try, of course," he says. Violet St. Vincent, with her
+fortune, is no light loss, but he does not distinguish between her and
+the fortune. "It was the best thing to do," he continues, "though I had
+half a mind to throw up everything and go away."
+
+She feels she should have admired and approved this course, but Pauline
+would have been wretched. She does not dream that in this early stage
+another lover would have comforted Pauline. She is so simple, so
+absolutely truthful, that her youthful discernment is quite at fault.
+
+"You must let yourself be happy," she says, and then she remembers how
+she has let herself be happy and the bitter awakening. But in this case
+there is nothing to break a confidence once established.
+
+"And what are you going to do?" he asks, suddenly.
+
+It is like a great wave and almost takes her off her feet.
+
+"You must not think of me, nor watch me, nor anything"; and an
+observant man would note the strain of agony in her voice. "It was very
+good in your brother to take care of me as he did. Mr. Sherburne said
+to-day that not one man in a hundred would have brought the matter to
+such a successful issue. And you know if everything had been lost, why,
+I should have been a burthen on him. Think of _us_ having nothing at
+all! What could you do?"
+
+He shrugs his shoulders in the dark, and he knows he should not want
+her or any other woman in poverty.
+
+"I shall have a pleasant life," she continues. "I can do a great deal
+for Cecil; and I can copy and translate, and Mr. Grandon is so fond of
+music. I know we shall be happy when this business no longer perplexes
+him and he has a little leisure. He is always so good and thoughtful.
+You couldn't expect him to love a little girl like me, fresh from a
+convent, with no especial beauty," she says, with heroic bravery.
+
+"And you will forget about me," the young man returns, with jealous
+selfishness.
+
+"I shall forget nothing that is right to be remembered," she says,
+steadily; "and I like Miss Murray; we shall be friends always. She
+seems such a young girl and I am only eighteen. We shall love each
+other and take an interest in each other's houses. Now that Gertrude is
+away, no one cares very much for me."
+
+"It is a shame!" he interrupts, indignantly. "You and Polly must always
+love each other. We shall live somewhere around Grandon Park, I
+suppose."
+
+"And we will all end like a fairy story," she declares, trying to
+laugh, but it is such a poor, mirthless sound.
+
+She sees with secret joy that he is somewhat comforted, and she trusts
+to Polly's fascinations to achieve the rest. Love is not quite what
+poets sing about, unless in such lives as Mr. and Mrs. Latimer.
+
+The air is so fragrant, the night so beautiful, that the moments fly
+faster than she thinks. The clock strikes ten, and in a little
+trepidation she insists that it shall be good night, and glides up the
+path and through the hall, and in Cecil's room comes face to face with
+Mr. Grandon, who has been home long enough to divest himself of coat,
+necktie, and collar. She stands quite still in amaze, the quick flush
+he has always admired going up to the very edge of her hair.
+
+"You are out late walking," he says, in a tone that seems to stab her.
+"I trust you were not alone."
+
+"I was not alone." He is quite welcome to know all. "I was with Eugene.
+He----" How shall she best tell it? Alas! the very hesitation is fatal.
+"He is engaged to Miss Murray."
+
+"He abounds in the wisdom of the children of this world," comments
+Floyd Grandon, with bitter satire. "It is the best step he could take,
+but I hope Miss Murray will never regret it. She is young to take up
+life's most difficult problem, a vain, selfish, handsome man."
+
+Violet's lips are dry and her throat constricted. Mr. Grandon is
+displeased; he has not been well pleased with Eugene of late. She can
+make no present peace between them; something in the sad depths of her
+heart tells her that it is useless to try. That this man before her,
+her wedded husband, who has never been her lover, should be jealous, is
+the last thought that would occur to her. She is a little afraid he
+suspects Eugene, but there never will be any cause again. She will not
+rest until she sees him devoted to Miss Murray. She can make no
+confidence, so she kisses Cecil, and begins to take some roses from her
+hair with untender fingers and the nervousness that confesses her ill
+at ease.
+
+Floyd Grandon walks over to the window. For perhaps the first time in
+his life he is swayed by a purely barbaric element. Men beat or shoot
+or stab their wives under the dominion of such a passion! He is almost
+tempted to fly down-stairs and confront Eugene and have it out with
+him. To go at this fragile little wraith, who is now pale as a
+snow-drop, would be too unmanly. He holds himself firmly in hand, and
+the tornado of jealousy sweeps over him. Why has he never experienced
+it before? Can it be that he has come to love her so supremely? His
+brain seems to swim around, he drops into the chair and gives a gasp
+for breath at this strange revelation. Yes, he loves her, and she would
+be happier with Eugene! He has marred the life he meant to shield with
+so much tenderness.
+
+When his passion is spent an utter humiliation succeeds. He is ashamed
+at his time of life of giving way to any emotion so strongly; he has
+clipped and controlled himself, governed and suppressed rigorously, and
+in a moment all the barriers have been swept away. Is this the high and
+fine honor on which he has so prided himself?
+
+Some other steps are coming up the stairs. There is a little lingering
+good night, a parting of the ways, and Eugene goes to his room. What is
+there in this false, handsome face that can so move the hearts of both
+these women? Does Violet fancy herself beloved, the victim of a cruel
+fate? Does Pauline Murray believe she is going to happy wifehood when
+her husband-elect secretly desires another?
+
+Floyd Grandon sits there until past midnight. Violet has breathed her
+patient, tender, penitent prayer, wept a few dreary tears, and fallen
+asleep. She looks hardly more than a child, and he could pity her if he
+did not love her so much, but in its very newness his love is cruel. It
+is not him for whom she secretly sighs, but another. And a dim wonder
+comes to his inmost soul--did ever any woman longing, and being denied,
+suffer this exquisite torture?
+
+The world looks different in the flood of morning sunshine. Mr.
+Murray's cheery, inspiriting tones are heard in the hall below, Cecil's
+bird-like treble, Mr. Haviland's slow but not unmelodious tone, and
+Pauline's witching mockery. Her father has been teazing her, and when
+Violet comes down, she stands in the hall, golden crowned and rose-red,
+slim and tall, and is the embodiment of delight.
+
+It all comes out, of course. Eugene bears his honors gallantly, and
+looks handsomer than ever. Mr. Murray is really proud of Polly's
+choice, for, after all, the principal duty of the young people will be
+to charm society. Eugene is a high-bred, showy animal, with regular
+points and paces, and is not to be easily distanced on the great course
+of fashion. Violet watches him in dim amaze. Is he assuming all this
+joy and delight?
+
+"It's just too lovely!" Polly says afterward, when she gets Mrs.
+Grandon alone. "And do you know, I _was_ jealous last night when you
+and Eugene meandered up and down the shrubbery;" and a secret elation
+shines in her eyes. "I made him tell me all you said; _did_ you really
+want him to marry me? Do you love me, you dear little angel?"
+
+If she is a little struck at Eugene's way of confessing to his
+sweetheart, she does not betray any suspicion of mendacity. She can
+truly say she likes Pauline, and that she is glad of the engagement,
+that she and Polly are certain to be the best of friends. The warms
+arms around her are so fond, the kisses so delicately sweet, the
+exaggerations of feeling are so utterly delicious, that Violet yields
+to the fascination and adores Polly to her heart's content, and Polly
+promises that Eugene shall dance with her and be just the same real
+brother that he was before.
+
+It seems as though business had but just begun. The elders talk law: it
+is the surrogate's office and the orphans' court and published notices.
+Eugene formally dissolves partnership with Jasper Wilmarth, and for a
+"consideration," which he insists is Polly, transfers his half to Mr.
+Murray. Wilmarth is offered a large price for his quarter-share, but he
+resolves to fight to the bitter end. Of course he must give up, but he
+means to make all the trouble possible. Marcia flies hither and thither
+like a wasp, stinging wherever she can, but in these days Violet is
+guarded a good deal by Polly and her lover. Grown bolder, she at length
+attacks Floyd, accusing him of treachery and avarice and half the
+crimes in the calendar. Violet's fortune is flung up,--"The fortune no
+one else would touch, though it was offered to them," says Marcia,
+crushingly.
+
+Floyd loses his temper.
+
+"Marcia," he says, "never let me hear you make that accusation! Mr.
+Wilmarth went to Canada for that deliberate purpose, and urged his suit
+up to the very last day of Mr. St. Vincent's life. He would have been
+too glad to have swept the whole concern into his hands, and swallowed
+up your portion as well. It has been an unthankful office from first to
+last, and but for my father's sake I should have thrown it up at once."
+
+Marcia is white to the lips. Either Jasper Wilmarth has deceived her,
+or her brother Floyd standing here does not tell the truth! To foolish
+Marcia there has been something quite heroic in Mr. Wilmarth refusing
+so tempting an offer and choosing _her_.
+
+"He did not care for such a mere child," she says, with obstinate
+pride.
+
+"But he _did_ care for the money. And in the mean while he was
+depreciating the business and doing his utmost to ruin it. If _you_
+love him," he says, "well and good, but do not insist that I shall. I
+can never either honor or esteem him. I saw through him too easily."
+
+"I think you are very indiscreet, Marcia," exclaims her mother, when
+Floyd has left the room. "Do try to keep peaceable. It is a shame to
+have you quarrelling all the time! How could he help disposing of the
+business? It was only held in trust until it could be settled."
+
+For Mrs. Grandon has resolved herself into quite a comfortable frame of
+mind. Eugene will not come to grief; on the contrary, his prospects are
+so bright that her spirits rise accordingly. He is her darling, her
+pride. She has no foolish jealousy of the young girl who is to be his
+wife,--she could not have chosen better herself. Her motherly cares are
+at an end, her income is assured. She would rather have Madame
+Lepelletier in Violet's place, but she will not allow the one bitter to
+spoil so much sweet.
+
+Madame Lepelletier is somewhat amazed at the turn affairs have taken.
+Eugene has not been the trump card she hoped. There is so much going on
+at the great house that she is quite distanced.
+
+But one evening Floyd comes down with a message that he has not cared
+to trust to others. It is a little cool, and she has a bit of fire in
+the grate, though the windows are open to the dewy, sweet air. All is
+so quiet and tranquil, and for a month there has been little save
+confusion and flying to and fro at home.
+
+She remarks that he is thinner and there is a restlessness in the eyes,
+while the face is set and stern.
+
+"You are working too hard," she begins, in her sympathetic voice. "All
+this has been a great care. You ought to have something----"
+
+His sensitive pride takes the alarm. Does she, too, think he had his
+covetous eye on the St. Vincent fortune?
+
+"Don't!" he interrupts, in a strained, imploring tone. "I should hate
+to have you of all others think I was moved in whatever I have done by
+any thought of personal gain. I could wish that not one dollar of gain
+had come to me,--and it has not," he says, defiantly. "I will confess
+to you that I was moved by the profoundest pity for a dying man, and I
+was afraid then that we should all go to ruin together."
+
+"Ah," she returns, and a beguiling light plays over her face like some
+swift ripple, "I never looked upon it in any other light. I knew you
+better than you believed I did."
+
+He has one friend, he thinks, in a daring, obstinate sort of way quite
+new to him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+Desires unsatisfied, abortive hope,
+Repinings which provoked vindictive thought,
+These restless elements forever wrought.
+
+                         SOUTHEY.
+
+
+"Good night," John Latimer says, as they stand at the gate of the
+eyrie. They have been spending a delightful evening. Prof. Freilgrath
+is on his way home, and after a brief visit must make a flying trip to
+Germany. Latimer has half decided to go with him, and has been
+persuading Floyd. It looks very tempting,--a two or three months'
+vacation.
+
+"I ought to go up to the factory," he begins, abruptly. "Our watchman
+is down with the rheumatism. The foreman stayed last night, and I
+promised to send in some one to-night. Am I growing old and forgetful?"
+
+Latimer laughs as he asks how much money is in the safe. If half a
+million, he will go.
+
+"At all events I will walk up and see," Grandon says, and strides
+along.
+
+There is no moon, but he has been over the road so many times that it
+is no journey at all. Silence and darkness reign supreme. He unfastens
+the door with his skeleton key, lights a burner in the hallway and a
+safety lamp which he carries with him. How weird and ghostly these long
+passages look! The loom-rooms seem tenanted by huge, misshapen denizens
+of some preadamic world. He stands and looks, and fantastic ideas float
+through his brain.
+
+The engine-room is satisfactory. Everything is right, except that once
+or twice he catches a strong whiff of kerosene, which he hates utterly.
+The men may have been using it for something. He inspects nooks and
+corners, even looks into Wilmarth's little den. How often to traverse a
+man's plans, makes an enemy of him for life, he ruminates.
+
+He turns out the light in the hall and enters the office, remembering
+two letters he laid in the drawer. How shadowy and tempting the little
+rooms look! He enters and throws himself on the lounge. A few weeks
+longer and the place will know him no more except for a chance visit.
+There have been many cares and trials since the day he sat here and
+read his father's letter, and his whole life has been changed by them.
+
+"But I have done my duty in all honor and honesty," he cries, softly,
+as if the dead man's spirit were there to hear. "I have defrauded no
+one, I have taken no money upon usury, I have been true to the living,
+true to the dead." And again he seems to see St. Vincent's closing
+eyes.
+
+The bell tells off midnight. The strokes sound slower and more august
+than by busy daylight. If ever the ghost of the dead returned--
+
+No ghost comes, however. He may as well throw himself down here and
+sleep, as to tramp to the park. No one will miss him.
+
+He says that bitterly. Even Cecil is weaned from him. He is no longer
+her first thought. Is life full of ingratitude, or is he growing
+morose, doubtful of affection?
+
+He lies there awhile, thinking of Violet and the foolish madness he has
+resolved to overcome. It is well enough for youth and inexperience, but
+a man of his years! Is there another woman in the world who could have
+loved him, would have loved him with maddening fervor? Is the old
+Eastern story of Lilith true? Does she come to tempt him at this
+midnight hour?
+
+That is his last thought. When he turns again he is rather cramped, and
+he knows he has been asleep. But a curious impression is on his mind,
+as if some one came and looked at him. The lamp burns, the corners of
+the room are shadowy. An ugly chill creeps up his back, and he rises,
+stretches himself, whistles a stave of rondeau, and inspects the outer
+room. All is as usual. He will go back to bed. Or had he better take
+another turn through the factory?
+
+The door is locked. Did he take out the key? It is always hung in one
+place, and the nail is empty. He cudgels his brains for remembrance,
+but surely he left the key on the outside.
+
+What can he do? An old traveller, he ought to be fertile in expedients.
+He is certainly trapped, and if so, some one is in the factory.
+
+After a moment, he softly opens the iron shutters and vaults out. Some
+rubbish stands in the corner of the yard; it looked unsightly to him
+yesterday, but he is thankful now, and scrambles on the unsteady pile
+until he can spring up to the top of the high street fence and let
+himself drop on the other side. How odd that the dog should not hear.
+There is a long ray of light flashing out of a window. Something is
+wrong.
+
+He lets himself in at the main entrance again. There is a smothering
+smell, a smoke, a glare. He rushes to the engine-room, but it is
+up-stairs as well, everywhere, it seems, and he flies to the alarm
+bell.
+
+Some stalwart grip seizes him from behind and throws him, but he is up
+in a flash. Ah, now he knows his enemy! He makes a frantic endeavor to
+reach the rope, and the other keeps him away. Neither speak, but the
+struggle is deadly, for the one has everything at stake, honor,
+standing, all that enables a man to face the world, and a revenge that
+would be so sweet. To-morrow the last business of the transfer is to be
+completed, to-night's loss will fall on the Grandon family.
+
+Neither speak. The man who has been detected in a crime fights
+desperately; the life of his more fortunate rival is as nothing to him.
+If the place burns and Grandon's dead body is found there, who is to
+know the secret covered up? If his dead body is _not_ there, it is
+disgrace and ruin for his enemy, and he will struggle with all the
+mastery of soul and body, with all the inspiration, of revenge, of
+safety to himself.
+
+Grandon is strong, supple, and has a sinewy litheness, beside his
+height. His antagonist has the solidity of a rock, and though his body
+is much shorter, his arms are Briarius-like, everywhere, and more than
+once Grandon is lifted from his feet. It seems as if the awful struggle
+went on for hours while the fire is creeping stealthily about with its
+long blue and scarlet tongues. He hears a crackling up-stairs, it grows
+lurid within, and he remembers stories of men struggling with fiends.
+There floats over his sight the image of Irene Lepelletier; of Violet,
+sweet and sad-eyed. Will it be too late for her to go to happiness?
+Will Pauline Murray's love be only a green withe binding the Samson of
+these modern days. One more desperate encounter, and Wilmarth comes
+down with a thud. He seizes the rope and rings such peals that all
+Westbrook starts. Then he runs through the passageway, but is caught
+again. Whatever Wilmarth does he must do quickly.
+
+Some voice in the street shouts, "Fire!" Grandon with a free hand deals
+his adversary a blow, and the next instant he has the street door open.
+
+"What's wrong?" cries a voice. "Who is here?" And the man, a workman,
+though Grandon does not recognize him, rushes through in dismay, but
+his presence of mind saves worse disaster. The hose in the engine-room
+is speedily put in motion, and the hissing flames seem to explode.
+
+Grandon follows in a dazed manner. There are other steps, and an
+intense confusion like pandemonium prevails. One stentorian voice
+orders, and men go to work with the forces at hand. The dense smoke is
+enough to strangle them, but the waves of fire are beaten down. In a
+moment they rise again, and now it is a fight with them. Fortunately
+they can be taken singly, they have not had time to unite their
+overmastering forces.
+
+By the time the engines have reached the spot, the fire is pretty well
+conquered. They open the windows to let out the thick, black smoke.
+Every one questions, no one knows.
+
+"Wait until to-morrow," says Floyd Grandon, who looks like a swarthy
+Arab, he is so covered with grime.
+
+Farley, who is foreman of one department, and lives almost in the
+shadow of the building, who was first on the spot, is much puzzled.
+"There is something wrong about all this," he declares. "The fire broke
+out in four separate places. That was no accident!"
+
+The morning soon dawns. The smoke dissipates slowly, and they find the
+damage very small to what it might have been, but the signs of
+incendiarism are unmistakable. Grandon goes carefully through the
+place, searches every nook and corner, but discovers no trace of
+Wilmarth. Then he despatches a messenger for Eugene and the two
+gentlemen still at Grandon Park.
+
+Meanwhile he walks up and down the office in deep thought. It seems
+easy enough to tell a straightforward story, but what if Wilmarth
+should deny all participation in it, treat it as a dream or a false
+accusation on his part? He was here alone, he cannot deny that, and he
+has no means of proving that Wilmarth was here with him. He found the
+office door locked on the outside, as he supposed he should. No one
+could believe for a moment that he would set fire to the place when he
+had just disposed of it to his advantage, and yet not made a complete
+legal transfer, but never was a man placed in more confusing
+circumstances. Shall he attack Wilmarth with the power of the law? He
+is his sister's husband, and it will make a family scandal just when he
+believed he had all difficulties settled, and how _is_ he to prove his
+charge? Wilmarth is not a man to leave a weak point if he can help. His
+plans have all been nicely laid. Floyd feels certain now that he did
+enter the office, attracted perhaps by a gleam of light. What if he had
+not wakened until the fire was under full headway! Locked in, confused,
+his very life might have been the forfeit, and he shudders. He is not
+tired of life at three-and-thirty, if some events are not shaped quite
+to his liking.
+
+He washes up and tidies himself a little, but his coat he finds rather
+a wreck after the deadly struggle. He sends one of the men out for some
+breakfast, and shortly after that is despatched, the Grandon carriage
+drives up, its occupants more than astonished. The brief alarm in the
+night has not reached them.
+
+Floyd leads them into the office and the door is closed. He relates his
+singular story with concise brevity, and the little group listen in
+amazement.
+
+"The man has been a villain all the way through," declares Eugene, with
+virtuous severity. "He did actually convince me last summer that St.
+Vincent's plan would prove a complete failure, and that the business
+would be nothing, yet he made me what I considered generous offers for
+so poor an establishment. But for Floyd," he admits, with great
+magnanimity, "I should have played into his hands."
+
+"I think," Floyd announces, after every one has expressed frank
+indignation, "that for a day or two we had better keep silent. I will
+have the damage repaired, and now, it seems, having him at your mercy,
+you can compel him to a bargain," and he glances at Murray.
+
+They agree upon this plan and go over the building. The machinery is
+very slightly damaged; the stock, not being inflammable, has been
+injured more by water, but they find rags and cotton-waste saturated
+with kerosene. Once under good headway the building would surely have
+gone.
+
+"Mr. Grandon," and a lad comes rushing up-stairs, "there is some one to
+see you in a great hurry, down here in a wagon."
+
+It is Marcia's pony phaeton, and two ladies are in it, one a Mrs.
+Locke, Marcia's neighbor.
+
+"I have been down to Grandon Park," she begins, nervously. "I had some
+dreadful tidings! What a terrible night! Your sister----"
+
+"What has happened to Mrs. Wilmarth?" he cries, in alarm. Can her
+husband have wreaked his vengeance upon her?
+
+"Her husband was found dead this morning in his library. He had been
+writing, and had not gone to bed. She discovered him, and it was an
+awful shock. She has just gone from one faint to another. Her mother
+sent me here, though Mrs. Grandon has gone to her."
+
+Are the horrors of this strange night never to cease? For a moment
+Floyd seems stricken dumb, then the tidings appear quite impossible.
+
+"No one could do anything," Mrs. Locke says. "A physician came, but he
+was quite dead; and he, Dr. Radford, ordered some members of your
+family to be sent for immediately."
+
+"Eugene," calls Floyd. "Here, change coats with me if I can get into
+yours. There is trouble at Marcia's. Remain here until I send you
+word," and he springs into the large carriage, driving away at full
+speed.
+
+The house wears an unusual aspect. Several people are gathered on the
+porch. Floyd hurries within, and goes straight through to the library,
+lifting the portiere. Dr. Radford is sitting by the window. Jasper
+Wilmarth is still in his chair, his head fallen over on the desk,
+pillowed by one arm. The swarthy face is now marble pale, the line of
+eyebrows blacker than ever, the lips slightly apart.
+
+Radford bows and steps forward. "Mr. Grandon--I am glad you have come,
+for there is a little--a--I wish to tell _you_--before any steps are
+taken. It is suicide, beyond doubt, by prussic acid. Can you divine any
+cause?"
+
+Floyd Grandon is as pale as the corpse, and staggers a step or two; but
+when the terrible shock abates, an admiration for his enemy pervades
+his very soul. It is what he would have done rather than meet criminal
+disgrace.
+
+"I have been treating him for a heart trouble, not anything critical,
+and a local affection that caused him some anxiety. My first thought
+was that he had taken an overdose of medicine, but I detected the
+peculiar odor. Had there better be an inquest?"
+
+Floyd shivers at the thought of the publicity. Death seems by far the
+best solution of events, but to make a wonderment and scandal--
+
+"Is it absolutely necessary?"
+
+"Not unless the family desire it."
+
+"Doctors are sometimes taken into strange confidences," Floyd Grandon
+begins, gravely. "A difficulty came to my knowledge last night that
+supplies the clew. Since the man could not have retained his honor,
+this is the sad result. But having paid the penalty, if he might go to
+his last rest quietly----"
+
+"There can be no suspicion of foul play. His wife left him here
+writing, at eleven. He seemed rather as if he wished her away, and she
+retired, falling soundly asleep. He has sometimes remained down all
+night, and even when she entered the room this morning she supposed him
+still asleep. I should judge the poison had been taken somewhat after
+midnight. There are various phases of accidental death----"
+
+"Let it be managed as quietly as is lawful," decides Floyd Grandon.
+
+Dr. Radford bows. "A post mortem will be sufficient, though that is not
+absolutely necessary. You prefer it to pass as an accidental death?"
+
+"The family would, I am positive. Can I intrust the matter with you?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Well. Prepare the body for burial. Mrs. Wilmarth may choose to order
+the rest."
+
+He finds Marcia still in hysterics, and his mother half bewildered. "It
+is so horribly sudden!" she cries. "Poor Marcia! she did really love
+him!"
+
+Let her keep her faith in him if she can. Her short wedded life has
+been the froth and sparkle on the beaded cup, never reaching the dregs.
+This man has hated him because he interfered with his plans and
+unearthed his selfish purposes, but _he_, Grandon, has no desire for
+revenge. Let him wrap himself in the garment of dead honor, his shall
+not be the hand to tear it asunder.
+
+He takes the tidings back to the factory with him. They look over
+Wilmarth's desk. There are no private papers, but they find two notices
+that the insurance policy has expired. For almost a week the place has
+been uninsured.
+
+"Well," he comments, with a grim smile, "we shall at least escape an
+inquisitorial examination. Jasper Wilmarth planned better for us than
+he knew. But this must be renewed to-day, and the damage repaired as
+speedily as possible. The transfer will have to wait until after the
+funeral. As for the rest, we may as well keep our own counsel."
+
+They all agree with him. The factory will be closed for repairs. That
+it was an incendiary fire they must perforce admit, but beyond that
+they will make no unnecessary talk. Eugene drives down home and does a
+few errands, but the others are busy all day arranging matters for the
+future. Before Floyd goes home he visits Marcia, who is still wild with
+her grief. The house is full of friends. The library is closed and
+watchers are there. Mrs. Grandon will remain.
+
+So it is almost night when Floyd reaches home. Violet and Pauline know
+there was a fire that would have worked complete devastation if Floyd
+had not fortunately gone to the factory. Eugene has given him the
+setting off of a hero, and would like to picture to their wondering
+eyes that deadly struggle, but is bound by a sacred promise. They are
+horrified, too, by Mr. Wilmarth's sudden death. Violet's heart swells
+with pity as she sees the pale, tired face and heavy eyes. She would
+like to fly to his arms with infinite sympathy, but he is never very
+demonstrative, and now it seems ill-timed. She starts to follow him
+up-stairs, but Briggs intercepts her,--cook wants to know something,
+and she has to give a few orders. There seems some difficulty about
+dessert, and she attends to its arrangement, then the bell rings.
+
+Dinner topics are quite exciting. The Brades come in afterward, and
+several of the near friends.
+
+"I must beg to be excused," Floyd says, after smoking a cigar with the
+gentlemen. "I am dead tired and half asleep. Good night," softly, with
+a little pressure on Violet's arm. Cecil runs for a kiss, and he passes
+through the group on the porch. Violet's heart swells and for an
+instant she forgets what she is saying. When, three hours afterward,
+she steals noiselessly to his room, he is locked in slumber. If she
+dared bend and kiss him! If only he _loved_ her!
+
+The excitement does not in any wise die out, but the one incident seems
+to offset the other. Mr. Haviland returns to his family, as some time
+must elapse before the completion of the matter, but they are to take
+full possession on the first of October. Mr. Murray is planning some
+kind of a home for Polly that will presently include her husband.
+Eugene really blossoms out in a most attractive light. Prosperity and
+freedom from care are the elements on which he thrives serenely. He
+could never make any fight with circumstances,--not so much from
+inability as sheer indolence. For such people some one always cares.
+"Life's pure blessings manifold" seem showered upon them, while
+worthier souls are left to buffet with adversity.
+
+Marcia is inconsolable, Mrs. Grandon advises a little composure and
+common sense, but it is of no avail. Madame comes, with her sweet
+philosophy and sweeter voice, and Violet with tears, but nothing rouses
+her except the depth of crape on her dress and the quality of her veil.
+Grandon Park and Westbrook are shocked by the awful suddenness. There
+is always a peculiar awe about an accidental death, and it passes for
+an overdose of powerful medicine Mr. Wilmarth was in the habit of
+using.
+
+The dead face holds its secret well. A rugged, unhandsome one at the
+best, it is softened by the last change; the sneer has gone out of it,
+and an almost grand composure settles in its place. Floyd Grandon
+studies it intently. A few trifling circumstances roused his distrust,
+and--was it destined beforehand that he should cross Wilmarth at every
+turn? He has saved his enemy's honor as well as his own, and a great
+pity moves him.
+
+Floyd attends Marcia; no one else can control her. Eugene takes Violet
+and his mother, Mr. Murray has his own pretty daughter and Madame
+Lepelletier. Besides this there is a long procession to the church, and
+carriages without number to the beautiful cemetery two miles distant.
+The world may not have much admired Mr. Wilmarth, but it knows nothing
+against him, and his romantic marriage was in his favor. So he is
+buried with all due respect in that depository of so many secrets,
+marred and gnarled and ruined lives.
+
+Marcia is brought home to her brother's and takes to her bed. The day
+following is Sunday, a glorious, sun-ripe September day. The air is
+rich with ripening fruit, the pungent odor of drying balsams,
+chrysanthemums coming into bloom, and asters starring the hillsides.
+The sky is a faultless blue overhead, the river takes its tint and
+flows on, a broad blue ribbon between rocky shores. A strange, calm day
+that moves every one to silence and tender solemnity.
+
+But to Sunday succeeds the steady tramp of business. Fortunately for
+Marcia, and Floyd as well, Mr. Wilmarth has made a will in the first
+flush of marital satisfaction, bequeathing nearly everything to her,
+except a few legacies. It increased her adoration at the time, and did
+no harm to him since he knew he could change it if he saw passionately,
+decorously, and she can also enjoy her new found liberty.
+
+Laura's return is next in order, and she is not a little surprised at
+the changes. The Murrays are still at Grandon Park; Floyd insists upon
+this, as he really does not want Marcia to return, brotherly kind as he
+proves to her. The Latimers go to the city, and the professor is again
+domiciled a brief while at the cottage that seems so like home. Laura
+and Mr. Delancy set up a house of their own, and Marcia has a craze
+about the furnishing, making herself quite useful. Laura considers her
+rather picturesque, with the brief romance for background. But Eugene's
+engagement delights her.
+
+"Upon my word, mamma," she exclaims, "you are a singularly fortunate
+dowager! Just think; less than a year and a half ago we were a doleful
+lot, sitting around our ancestral hearth, which was Floyd's, spinsters
+in abundance, and a woful lack of the fine gold of life, without which
+one is nobody. And here you have two distinguished married daughters,
+an interesting widow, a son who will serenely shadow himself under the
+wings of a millionnaire, and--well, I can almost forgive Floyd for
+marrying that red-haired little nonentity. Who ever supposed she was
+going to have such a fortune? And if she should have no children,
+Eugene may one day be master of Grandon Park! Who can tell?"
+
+For, after all, Floyd's interests seem hardly identical with their own.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+Passion is both raised and softened by confession. In nothing perhaps
+were the middle way more desirable than in knowing what to say and what
+not to say to those we love.--GOETHE.
+
+
+All this time Floyd Grandon has scarcely had an hour's leisure. When
+the last paper is signed, he draws a long breath of satisfaction. He
+has done his whole duty and succeeded better than any sanguine hopes he
+has ever dared to entertain. He has settled, so to speak, the lives
+that pressed heavily upon him, and they can sustain themselves. He has
+come out of it with the honor he prizes so highly. And what else? What
+has he saved for himself?
+
+That the distance should widen between himself and Violet was not
+strange. He has a horror of a jealous, suspicious husband, and believes
+thoroughly in the old adage, that if a woman is good she needs no
+watching, and if bad she can outwit Satan himself. But this is no
+question of morals. He could trust Violet in any stress of temptation.
+She would wrench out her heart and bleed slowly to death before she
+would harbor one wrong thought or desire. In that he does her full
+justice. She has seen the possibility and turned from it, but nothing
+can ever take away the vivid sense, the sweet knowledge that there
+might have been a glow in her life instead of a colorless gray sky.
+
+He makes himself accept the bald, hard fact. He will not even trust
+himself to long for what is denied, lest he be stirred by some
+overmastering impulse as on that one night. She shall not suffer for
+what is clearly not her fault. She has no love to give him, nothing but
+a calm, grateful liking that almost angers him. That is his portion,
+and he will not torment her for any other regard.
+
+They drop into an almost indifferent manner toward each other, except
+that it is so kindly solicitous. There are no little bits of confidence
+or tenderness in private, as there used to be, indeed, they are so
+seldom alone. He seems to leave her with Eugene and Polly, as they have
+all come to call her by way of endearment, and there is something
+wonderfully fascinating about these young people; they make love
+unblushingly; they can pick a quarrel out of the eye of a needle just
+for the purpose of reconciliation, it would seem, and they make up with
+such a prodigal intensity of sweetness; Polly strays down the walk to
+meet him or fidgets if he stays a moment longer than usual; Eugene
+hunts the house and grounds over to find her just to say a last good-by
+for an hour or two. Violet suspects at times that Polly runs away for
+the pleasure of being found. He puts flowers in her hair, and she pins
+a nosegay at his lapel, she scents his handkerchief with her own choice
+extract, and argues on its superiority and Frenchiness. They take
+rides; her father has bought her a beautiful saddle horse, and they
+generously insist that Violet shall accompany them because Floyd is
+always busy. It may be foolish, but it is very sweet, and Violet's
+heart aches with a pain thrust out of sight, for the heart of eighteen
+has not yet learned to despise sweetness. The level, empty years
+stretch out so interminably.
+
+She has tried to comfort herself with the sorrows of others as a
+medicine. Lucia Brade, who has carried her preference for Eugene so
+openly, must be secretly brokenhearted, she thinks, and she looks for
+heavy eyes and a smileless face. But no, while there was hope Lucia
+waited; now that he is gone irrevocably, she bestirs herself instead of
+donning sackcloth. She is twenty, and of the eligibles about she must
+select a husband; so she no longer snubs the young men, but makes
+herself amiable and seductive, is always going or having company. There
+is no grave buried in her heart, only a rather mortifying sense of
+failure that she will eradicate as soon as possible.
+
+Even Eugene seems to recover from the passion she feared would blight
+his life. She is sincerely glad, and yet--is _she_ incapable of
+inspiring a lasting regard? Is there some fatal lack in her? Gertrude
+is delightfully pleasant, but she misses some old grace in her. It is
+her husband who has taken possession of the empty soul and filled it to
+the exclusion of others. What the professor says and does and thinks is
+paramount and right. There is no appeal from his judgment, so far as
+others are concerned, though she reserves little rights for herself.
+Gertrude is very much married already; the stronger will has captured
+the weaker. She can admire the professor with out stint, so there is
+nothing to militate against her regard.
+
+Violet always comes back to Polly. The naive, wondering eyes, the soft,
+sweet lips abloom with kisses, the limpid, purling voice that goes
+through pleasant meadows, shaded woods, little interruptions of stones
+and snags and dead grasses of yesterday that must be swept away, over
+cascades laughingly, dripping sweetness, and never seeming to settle.
+She calls upon Violet to see faults in Eugene--"for I know he is not
+perfect," she says, with her pretty worldly wise air; and when Violet
+has timidly ventured to agree, she proceeds to demolish and explain
+away such a monstrous fancy!
+
+Mr. Murray declares every day that he must send Polly to Baltimore, but
+instead Polly goes to the city and buys ravishing fall costumes, and
+Violet pleads to have her stay. Mr. Haviland purchases a house in the
+park and brings his family, a wife and two sisters and six children,
+and the two ladies have to be amiable to them. Polly, Violet, and
+Eugene visit every house that is even suggested as for sale, and make
+wonderful plans.
+
+Not that Eugene is in the house from "early morn till dewy eve." He
+develops quite a business capacity, and can follow a strong lead
+excellently. He is no longer tossed to and fro by Wilmarth's sneers and
+innuendoes, or bracing himself to fight against what he considers
+Floyd's inexperience. Mr. Murray belongs to the wise children of this
+world, and possesses the secret of suavity, good-humor, and judicious
+commendation. Already he is an immense favorite in the factory, and the
+men are willing to run at his slightest beck. Eugene makes himself
+useful in many ways with the books and correspondence.
+
+By the time Floyd is at liberty, Violet seems to have settled into a
+placid routine, and it is youth with kindred youth. Floyd is nearly
+twice her age, he remembers with dismay, but he does not feel old; on
+the contrary, it seems as if he could begin life with fresh zest.
+Neither would he have her emerge too rapidly from youth's enchanting
+realm. Only--and the word shadows so wide a space--can he do anything
+to make good the birthright he has unwittingly taken? She is rich,
+accomplished, and pretty, worth a dozen like Polly, it seems to him.
+Must her life be drear and wintry, except as she rambles into the
+pleasaunce of others? He could give up the seductive delights that have
+never been his, yet he has come to a time when home and love, wife and
+child, have a sacred meaning, and are the joys of a man's life.
+
+The garden parties begin to wane, but there is no lack of diversion for
+the young. Mr. Murray is not insensible to the charms of society, such
+as he finds at Madame Lepelletier's. He has travelled considerably, has
+much general information as to art and literature, men and events. With
+madame, the professor and his wife, and Floyd Grandon, the evenings
+pass delightfully.
+
+Violet is left out of them more by accident than design. The elders
+simply light their cigars and stroll down the avenue. Gertrude accepts
+madame's hospitality with an air of perfect equality that sits
+admirably upon her. She has attended dinners at San Francisco and
+various other centres, given in honor of the professor, and more await
+them in Europe. She is not so dazzling and has not the air of courts,
+but she has the prestige of a famous husband and has recovered some of
+her youthful beauty. Irene Stanwood has not distanced her so immensely,
+after all.
+
+If madame has been surprised at some turns of fate, there is one that
+has no flavor of disappointment thus far, and the crisis has nearly
+passed. She has attained all that is possible; she is Floyd Grandon's
+friend; she can gently crowd out other influences. He defers to her,
+relies upon her judgment, discusses plans with her, and she secretly
+exults in the fact that she is nearer to the strong, daring,
+intellectual side of his nature than his girl-wife can ever be. The
+danger of a love entanglement has passed by, he will settle to fame and
+the society of his compeers, and she will remain a pretty mother to his
+child, and the kind of wife who creates a wonder as to why the man has
+married her.
+
+Eugene finds her in the corner of the library one evening, alone, and
+with a pat on her soft hair, says tenderly,--
+
+"You poor little solitary girl, what are you doing?"
+
+She glances up with bright, brave eyes, and with a bit of audacity that
+would do credit to Polly, says,--
+
+"How dare you call me poor when you know I am an heiress! As for being
+little, you can tell me the more easily from Polly," and she laughs
+over the chasm of solitude that she will not remark upon.
+
+"Yes," he answers, mirthfully, "it would be sad to make a mistake now,
+for I can't help loving Polly."
+
+"Why should you? I am so glad you love her with your whole soul, for
+you _do_. She will always be my dearest friend, and if you neglect
+her or make her unhappy----"
+
+"Oh, you _are_ an angel, Violet!" he cries, with actual humility. "You
+are never jealous or hurt, you praise so generously, you are always
+thinking how other people must be made happy. You give away everything!
+I am not worth so much consideration," the crust of self-love is
+pierced for a moment and shows in the tremulous voice, "but I mean to
+make myself more of a man. And I can never love you any less
+because----"
+
+"Because you love Rome more," and she compels herself to give a
+rippling laugh. "That is the right, true love of your life, the others
+have been illusions."
+
+"Not my love for you," he declares, stoutly. "It will always hold,
+though it has changed a little. Only I wish you were----" Can he, dare
+he say, "happier"?
+
+"Don't wish anything more for me!" and she throws up her hand with a
+kind of wild entreaty. "There is so much now that I can never get
+around to all. You must think only of Polly's happiness."
+
+"Which will no doubt keep me employed"; and he laughs lightly. "By
+Jove! there won't be much meandering in forbidden pastures with Polly
+at hand! You wouldn't believe now that she was jealous last night,
+because I fastened a rose in poor Lucia's hair that had come loose.
+Wouldn't there have been a row if I had given it to her? But she is
+never angry jealous like some girls, nor sulky; there is a charm--I
+cannot describe it," confesses the lover in despair. "But we three
+shall always be the best of friends."
+
+"Always," with a convulsive emphasis. She has no need to insist that he
+shall thrust her out of his soul. She can take his regard without fear
+or dismay. She slips down from her seat on the window ledge, and they
+go to find Pauline and devote the remainder of the evening to music.
+
+A few days after the two go to the city to see a wonderful picture of
+Gerome's just arrived. They stop at Mrs. Latimer's, who promises to
+accompany them if they will stay to lunch, and they spend the
+intervening time in the nursery. A rollicking baby is Polly's delight,
+a baby who can be pinched and squeezed and kissed and bitten without
+agonizing howls.
+
+At the table Gertrude's departure is mentioned.
+
+"Oh," exclaims Mrs. Latimer, "has Mr. Grandon resolved to go? John is
+so anxious to attend some great gathering at Berlin. If they do go I
+must give a little farewell dinner, and _we_," with a gay laugh, "will
+be up on exhibition, as widows of that indigenous plant having a
+tubular stem, simple leaves, and secondary color."
+
+Polly laughs with bewitching humor and heartiness.
+
+It is well for Violet that of late she has been trained in a Spartan
+school. Last summer her flower-like face would have betrayed her in its
+changing tints. Now she steadies her voice, though she must answer at
+random.
+
+"He has not quite decided, I think."
+
+"It would be a nice little run for them, though I have made John
+promise to be back by Christmas."
+
+All the afternoon Violet ponders this in a sore, bewildered state. She
+has enough wifely pride to be hurt at the lack of confidence. Once he
+said when the cares of business were over they two would have a
+holiday. Will he ever desire one with her?
+
+That evening Cecil climbs upon her lap and puts her soft arms about
+Violet's neck, and she presses the child in a long, passionate embrace.
+
+"Oh, why do you hug me so tightly?" Cecil cries, with a touch of
+wilfulness.
+
+The hands suddenly unclasp. Is her love to prove a burthen even here?
+Does no one want it?
+
+"Mamma----" Cecil bends down to kiss her. "O mamma, are you crying?
+Don't cry, sweetest." She has caught this from the lovers. "Oh, you
+know I love you--better than anybody!"
+
+The ambiguity is almost like a stab. The child has told the truth
+unwittingly. Violet is like a person drowning in a wide dreary ocean,
+when some stray spar floats thitherward. It is not a promise of rescue,
+yet despair clutches it.
+
+"Not better than--papa?" Then a mortal shame crimsons her face and she
+despises herself.
+
+Cecil draws a long, quivering breath. "I _did_ love papa best," she
+whispers, "but now----"
+
+"No, you must still love him best," Violet cries, in all the agony of
+renunciation.
+
+"But who will love you best?" she asks, innocently. "Mamma, I shall
+love you best until I grow to be a big lady and have a lover like
+Polly. Then you know I shall have to care for him!"
+
+Is her best of all love to come from a child not of her own blood,
+instead of the husband of her vows?
+
+"Yes," Violet answers, in a strange, mirthless tone, while there is a
+smile on her dry lips. "You must care for him so much that he cannot
+help loving you. Oh, my darling, the only joy of all this dreary world
+is love!"
+
+If Denise could hear her young mistress utter that in such a
+soul-rending tone, her heart would break.
+
+Grandon meanwhile ponders the future, _their_ future. He has had one
+impulse of the heroically sentimental order, a possible freedom for
+Violet in the years to come, while she is still young, and a chance
+with life and fortune to retrieve the mistake into which she was
+hurried through no fault of her own. Would it be a violation of the
+divine law? This is not a usual case. She has clearly been defrauded of
+a great right. Can he restore it to her? If she were poor and
+dependent, he could give her so much she would hardly miss the other.
+
+He is angry that Eugene and Pauline should flaunt their happiness in
+her sad eyes. For they have grown very sad. She goes clad in lovely
+soft raiment now, yet he can recall the little girl in her gray gown,
+holding up her arms with strength and courage to save Cecil from
+disaster. He smiles as he calls up the flash in the spirited eyes, as
+she said, with true motherly instinct, "You shall not scold her!" If
+the eyes would only flash again!
+
+When he remembers this he cannot relinquish her. It would take too much
+out of his life. He could not see any other man win her, even if the
+law made her free. He should hate to think of other lips kissing her
+with lover's kisses. Ah, he is selfish, jealous still, a man among men,
+no more generous, just as eager to quaff the beaker of love as any
+other. Since she is his, he will not give her up. But to keep her in
+this cold, passive fashion, to have her gentle, obedient, affectionate,
+when he knows she has a woman's fond, warm soul!
+
+Would a separation awake any longing, any desire? This is one reason
+why he entertains the plan of the six weeks abroad, yet it is horribly
+awkward to discuss it with her. Still, it must be done.
+
+It is a rainy Sunday afternoon, and he roams about the house unquietly.
+Mr. Murray has gone to his partner's, Mrs. Grandon is with Laura, the
+lovers are in the drawing-room, with Violet at the far end playing
+propriety. Does it hurt her, he wonders, to have Eugene so foolishly
+fond of another?
+
+He catches up Cecil, who is running through the hall, and carries her
+out to the conservatory, where she culls flowers at her own sweet will.
+"This is for Polly, this for Eugene, and this for mamma."
+
+"Cecil," he asks, suddenly, "have you forgotten Auntie Dora, and Lily
+and Fen and Lulu? Do you never want to see them?"
+
+"Will they come here?" she asks, with wide-open eyes.
+
+"How would you like to go there? to sail in a great ship again?"
+
+"With madame?" she questions, laconically.
+
+The color mounts his brow. "No," he replies, gravely, "with papa."
+
+"And mamma?"
+
+"What if mamma does not want to go?"
+
+The lovely face grows serious and the eyes droop, as she answers
+slowly,--
+
+"Then I should stay with mamma. She would have no one."
+
+"But I would have no one either," he says, jealously.
+
+"Then why do you not stay with mamma? She cries sometimes," and Cecil's
+voice has a touch of pitiful awe. "Why do you not put roses in her hair
+and kiss her as Uncle Eugene does Polly? She is sweetest."
+
+"When does she cry?" he asks, smitten to the heart.
+
+"At night, when it is all soft dark, and when she puts her face down on
+my pillow."
+
+"Take your flowers in to them," he cries, suddenly. Is it because any
+love has gone out of Violet's life that she weeps in the soft dark? He
+strides up and down with his blood at fever heat. Is it for Eugene? The
+idea maddens him!
+
+When he enters the room, Violet has the red rose at her throat. He sits
+down by her and finds her grave, composed. No lovely warm color
+flutters over her face. She has trained herself so well that she can
+even raise her eyes without any show of embarrassment. Her exquisite
+repose would rival madame's; indeed, she might almost be a statue with
+fine, clear complexion, proudly curved lips, and long-fringed lids that
+make a glitter of bronze on her rose-leaf cheek. How has this girl of
+eighteen achieved this passionless grace?
+
+As the night sets in the rain pours in torrents. There is dinner,
+music, and Cecil makes various diversions up and down the room. Eugene
+and Polly make love in their usual piquant fashion in dim obscurity, he
+audaciously stealing kisses under cover, for no earthly reason except
+that stolen kisses have a more delicious flavor.
+
+Violet goes up-stairs with Cecil; for though Jane is equal to toilet
+purposes, there is a certain seductive way of tucking up and smoothing
+pillows, of stories and good-nights in which Violet is unsurpassed.
+
+"Come down in the library after you are through," Grandon says. "I want
+to see you." He wonders if people can divine what is in each other's
+soul unless eyes and lips confess it. Intuition, forsooth!
+
+She finds the room in a soft glow from the large lamp on the library
+table. Mr. Grandon is seated on one end of the divan, pushed a trifle
+from the window, and motions her hither. He has been thinking somewhat
+bitterly of having to leave his lovely home when he has just won the
+right to stay in it tranquilly. A sense of resentment swells up in his
+soul.
+
+She listens with gentle respect to his proposed journey, that seems
+definitely settled, and replies in a grave, steady tone, not devoid of
+interest, "that it will no doubt be very pleasant for him." Objecting
+or pleading to accompany him does not really enter her mind.
+
+"What will it be for you?" he asks, in a manner that would be savage
+were his breeding less perfect.
+
+Ah, she dare not say! People live through miserable times, sorrow does
+not kill them!
+
+He is chagrined, disappointed at her silence. It is unnatural for her
+to be so calm. She may even be glad--monstrous thought! His impatience
+and resentment are roused.
+
+"Violet," he begins, with a certain asperity, "there occasionally comes
+a time in life, married life, when the mistake one has made is realized
+in its full force. That we have made a mistake becomes more apparent as
+time goes by. If I could give you back your liberty"--and his voice
+softens unconsciously--"God knows I would gladly do it. I could not see
+how events would shape themselves when I took it from you, and your
+father during his illness----"
+
+Her calmness breaks. She throws up her hand in pitiful entreaty, her
+old gesture to shelter herself in time of trouble. She cannot have her
+father indirectly censured, she cannot listen to that humiliating
+episode from _his_ lips. If she understood him better she would know
+the almost brutal frankness, a kind of family usage, is not one of his
+faults.
+
+"Oh," she cries, in anguish, "I know! I know! You were very good, you
+were generous. I know now it was not as most people marry, and that you
+could not love me, that you did it to save me, but almost, I think, it
+would have been better----" for Jasper Wilmarth to have taken me, she
+is on the point of saying, but she ends with a strong, convulsive
+shudder.
+
+Who has been so cruel and dastardly as to tell her this? Ah! he guesses
+wildly.
+
+"This is Eugene's tale!" he cries, angrily, his face in the white heat
+of passion. "He shall answer to me as surely as there is a heaven!" and
+he springs up.
+
+Her arms are round him in their frantic endeavor to drag him back, her
+face is pressed against his breast, her silken hair blinds his very
+eyes.
+
+"You shall not!" she declares, in her brave, unshrinking voice, that,
+somehow, she has found again. "There shall be no disturbance on my
+account! Eugene did not tell me until I compelled him, it was some one
+else. I think you have wronged him in your mind. He was kind, tender,
+brotherly."
+
+"Whom then?" he demands, in a tone that terrifies her, and she sways
+like a lily.
+
+"It was Marcia; she was vexed about something, but you will forgive
+her. And Denise told me about Mr. Wilmarth--in all honor to you. She
+adores you. And, I could not remain blind, there were many things. But
+I do not want to be free, indeed I do not. I will be content"; and she
+gives a long, heart-breaking sob.
+
+"My poor child! my little darling!" and his arms enclose her with a
+fond clasp, though her face is still hidden. It is so easy to go
+through a labyrinth with a clew. This is what Eugene's fondness meant,
+and he forgives him much. This is why she has grown grave and cold and
+retiring! He is back again with her dying father--has he kept faith?
+She has been his wife, it is true, but was there not a higher meaning
+in the bond? Her heart beats against his like some prisoned bird. She
+is so near--are they to be kept asunder all their lives? If she did not
+love Eugene, may she not learn to love him?
+
+"You said I could not love you," he cries. "How do you know, who told
+you? Is your wisdom of so blind a quality?" and he raises the face full
+of tears, that shrinks from being seen with all its secrets written in
+a burning blush.
+
+"Violet! Violet! are we both to blame? Is there not some certainty when
+people love each other?" He bends his face to hers, and kisses into the
+lips the sweet and sacred knowledge that electrifies her, that seems to
+rend the horizon of remembrance with a flash. Out there on the porch in
+that first entrancing waltz he half told his secret, that he had begun
+to love her! The knowledge comes with a thrill of exultation.
+
+"I think you love me a little," he says, "but, Violet, I want no
+grateful, gentle, passive regard. I must have my wife sweet, fond,
+adoring! Am I not as worthy of love as other men?"
+
+She raises her face and they glance steadily into each other's eyes,
+then hers droop under the stronger and more imperious will, the lip
+quivers, the flush deepens.
+
+"If you will--be glad--to have me love you," she murmurs, brokenly.
+
+"Glad!" And the tone tells the rest.
+
+He brings her back to the seat where they were so cold and grave a
+brief while ago. Is there any need of envying Polly in the great
+drawing-room? The rain pours in torrents, but it is a divine summer
+within.
+
+"Violet," he says, a long while afterward, "we have never been real
+lovers, you know. I am not sure but it would be better for me to go
+abroad. We could write letters, and you could decide how much you
+cared."
+
+She glances up in a dismay so wild that he feels inclined to laugh in
+pure joy. She studies out the meaning: it is for _her_ to say whether
+he shall go or not.
+
+"Oh, I shall keep you here! I shall be jealous and exigeant like Polly,
+and you----"
+
+She is the bright-eyed, sunny-faced girl he found on the rocky shore,
+and there is the same buoyant ring in her voice.
+
+"I shall be a jealous, tyrannical husband," he rejoins, giving the
+rose-leaf cheek a soft pinch. "You will hardly dare dream your soul is
+your own."
+
+"No, I shall not dream it," she answers, with gay audacity.
+
+John Latimer is greatly disappointed, as well as the professor, at
+Grandon's defection. There is a charming dinner party at the Latimers',
+and Mrs. Latimer dolefully declares that she must be the single spear
+of grass. The following Saturday the friends go to see the travellers
+off. Gertrude may remain abroad several years, "Unless," says the
+professor, "I grow homesick for my little cottage among the cliffs and
+my good Denise."
+
+If her husband's eyes study all the changes that make Violet's face
+radiant and fascinating, some other eyes watch them with a vague
+suspicion. Has the chasm been bridged over? Has the man found the
+chords of his own soul, and united them in the divine melody to which
+exceptional lives are set? He may have friends among women, for he is
+chivalrous, high-minded, and attractive, but he will never need any
+_one_ friend greater than the rest. There is no secret niche for her,
+they are all open-columned temples, that the world may see, except the
+Holy of Holies where he will keep his wife.
+
+The world is all before Madame Lepelletier. She can marry well, if she
+chooses, she can make a charmed circle for herself if she so elects,
+but she feels strangely old and _ennuied_, as if she must have lived in
+centuries past, and there was no new thing. Yet the face in the mirror
+does not tell that story. How curiously she has come into the lives of
+these Grandons a second time, and gone out with as little result. Is
+the stone of Sisyphus the veiled myth of life?
+
+Violet and Grandon are not unblushing lovers like Polly and Eugene, and
+their most pronounced honeymoon hours are spent in the little cottage,
+under Denise's rejoicing eyes. There are always so many things to talk
+over, and the years to come must be the more crowded to make up for one
+lost in the desert.
+
+Polly's engagement gets shortened from two years to six months. Mr.
+Murray sets up a house, and Eugene is an important factor. He fits
+admirably into the life that has come to him; men of this stamp are
+saved or lost simply by the result of circumstances, and his are
+sufficiently strong to save him.
+
+Marcia will flit and flutter about until she captures another husband.
+She makes an attractive heroine of herself, but how near she came to
+tragedy she will never know. Floyd Grandon dismisses these ugly blots
+on the old life; he can well afford it in the perfect enjoyment that
+comes to him, a little fame, much honor, and a great deal of love.
+
+
+
+                     *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+
+LEE AND SHEPARD'S POPULAR FICTION
+
+
+AMANDA M. DOUGLAS' NOVELS.
+
+Osborne of Arrochar. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price, cloth, $1.50. Popular
+edition, $1.00.
+
+"In this novel, the author introduces us to an interesting family of
+girls, who, in default of the appearance of the rightful heir, occupy
+an old, aristocratic place at Arrochar. Just as it has reached the
+lowest point of dilapidation, through lack of business capacity on the
+part of the family, Osborne appears to claim his inheritance, and the
+interesting problem presents itself of marrying one of the daughters or
+turning the family out. The author thus gives herself a fair field to
+display her skill in the painting of character, the management of
+incident, and the construction of the dialogue. She has been in a large
+degree successful. We feel that we are dealing with real persons; and,
+as to the management of the story, it is sufficient praise to say that
+the interest is cumulative. The book will add to the author's
+reputation."--_School Journal, N.Y._
+
+
+The Heirs of Bradley House. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price, $1.50. Popular
+edition, $1.00.
+
+"The author has won a most honorable place in the literary world by the
+character as well as cleverness of her work. Her books are as clean and
+fresh and invigorating as a morning in May. If she is not deep or
+profound, she stirs in the heart of her reader the noblest impulses;
+and whosoever accomplishes this has not written in vain."--_Chicago
+Saturday Evening Herald._
+
+
+Whom Kathie married. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price, $1.50. Popular
+edition, $1.00.
+
+Miss DOUGLAS wrote a series of juvenile stories in which Kathie
+figured; and in this volume the young lady finds her destiny. The
+sweetness and purity of her life is reflected in the lives of all about
+her, and she is admired and beloved by all. The delicacy and grace with
+which Miss DOUGLAS weaves her story, the nobility of her characters,
+the absence of everything sensational, all tend to make this book one
+specially adapted to young girls.
+
+
+A Woman's Inheritance. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price, $1.50.
+
+"Miss DOUGLAS is widely known as a writer of excellent stories, all of
+them having a marked family likeness, but all of them bright,
+fascinating, and thoroughly entertaining. This romance has to do with
+the fortunes of a young woman whose father, dying, left her with what
+was supposed to be a large property, but which, under the management of
+a rascally trustee, was very near being wrecked, and was only saved by
+the self-denying devotion of one who was strictly under no obligation
+to exert himself in its behalf. The interest of the story is well
+sustained to the very close, and the reader will follow the fortunes of
+the various characters with an absorbed fascination."--_New Bedford
+Mercury._
+
+
+Sydnie Adriance. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price $1.50. Popular edition,
+$1.00.
+
+In this book, the heroine, being suddenly reduced to poverty, refuses
+an offer of marriage, because she thinks it comes from the
+condescension of pity rather than from the inspiration of love. She
+determines to earn her living, becomes a governess, then writes a book,
+which is successful, and inherits a fortune from a distant relative.
+Then she marries the man--But let us not tell the story. The author has
+told it in a charming way.
+
+
+LEE AND SHEPARD, BOSTON, SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATALOGUE FREE.
+
+
+
+
+LEE AND SHEPARD'S POPULAR FICTION
+
+
+Nelly Kinnard's Kingdom. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price, cloth, $1.50.
+Popular edition, $1.00.
+
+"Nelly Endicott, a bright, lively girl, marries Dr. Kinnard, a widower
+with two children. On going to her husband's home, she finds installed
+there a sister of his first wife (Aunt Adelaide, as she is called by
+the children), who is a vixen, a maker of trouble, and a nuisance of
+the worst kind. Most young wives would have had such a pest put out of
+the house, but Nelly endures the petty vexations to which she is
+subjected, in a manner which shows the beauty and strength of her
+character. How she surmounted the difficulty, it would not be fair to
+state."--_New York Evening Mail._
+
+
+From Hand to Mouth. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price, $1.50. Popular
+edition, $1.00.
+
+"This is a thoroughly good, true, pure, sweet, and touching story. It
+covers precisely those phases of domestic life which are of the most
+common experience, and will take many and many of its readers just
+where they have been themselves. There is trouble in it, and sorrow,
+and pain, and parting, but the sunset glorifies the clouds of the
+varied day, and the peace which passes understanding pervades all. For
+young women whose lives are just opening into wifehood and maternity,
+we have read nothing better for many a day."--_Literary World._
+
+
+A Modern Adam and Eve in a Garden. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price $1.50.
+
+Bright, amusing, and sensible. A story of two people who set out to win
+their share of the world's wealth, and how they did it; which, as a
+critic says, "is rather jolly and out-of-door-y, and ends in a
+greenhouse,"--with some love and pathos, of course, and much practical
+knowledge.
+
+
+The Old Woman who lived in a Shoe. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price $1.50.
+
+This is not a child's story, nor a comic view of household life,--as
+some might think from its title--but a domestic novel, full of the
+delights of home, of pure thoughts, and gentle virtues. It has also
+sufficient complications to keep the thread of interest _drawn_, and to
+lead the reader on. Among Miss DOUGLAS' many successful books, there is
+none more beautiful or attractive, or which leaves a more permanent
+impression.
+
+
+Claudia. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price, $1.50. Popular edition, $1.00.
+
+This is a romantic story, with abundant incidents and strong
+situations. The interest is intense. It concerns two half sisters,
+whose contrasted character and complicated fortunes are the charm of
+the book.
+
+
+Seven Daughters. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price $1.50.
+
+The "Seven" are daughters of a country clergyman who is not greatly
+blessed with the good things of the world. The story is related by the
+eldest, who considers herself far from brilliant or witty, but who
+makes charming pictures of all who figure in the book. The good
+minister consents to receive a number of bright boys as pupil-boarders,
+and the two families make a suggestive counterpoise, with mutual
+advantage. Destiny came with the coming of the boys, and the story has
+naturally a happy end.
+
+
+The Foes of her Household. By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Price $1.50.
+
+"This is an exceedingly entertaining book. A simple girl, of beautiful
+character, marries a young man in poor health out of pure love, and
+ignorant of the fact that he is rich. His death occurs not very long
+after the marriage, and the young widow becomes the object of practical
+persecution by his relatives, who misunderstand her motives entirely.
+With a nobility of character, as rare as beautiful, she destroys their
+prejudice, and at last teaches them to love her."--_Central Baptist,
+St. Louis, Mo._
+
+
+LEE AND SHEPARD, BOSTON, SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATALOGUE FREE.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOYD GRANDON'S HONOR***
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