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

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