Floyd Grandon's Honor by Amanda Minnie Douglas (ebook audio reader TXT) 📖

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.