Floyd Grandon's Honor - Amanda Minnie Douglas (ereader with android txt) 📗

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