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

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