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

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