"Mr. Grandon," he answers, imperturbably, "I have seen the elements of success fail from lack of skilful handling."

"You proposed for the hand of Miss St. Vincent," and then Grandon could bite out his tongue if it would recall the words.

"Yes," with half-contemptuous pity. "He had risked everything on the success of this, and the poor child would have been left in a sad plight. Marriage was rather out of my plans."

"And fate happily relieved you," says Grandon, throwing into his face all the enthusiasm and softness of which he is master. "She did for me the greatest service; but for her, my days would have been a blank and desolation. She saved the life of my child, my little girl," and now he has no need to a.s.sume grat.i.tude. "I was a witness myself to the heroic act, but could not have reached her in time. She was the veriest stranger to me then, and aroused within my soul emotions of such deep and rare thankfulness that only the devotion of a lifetime can repay."

"Ah, yes," says Wilmarth, "you would naturally take an interest in her fortune."

"If you mean by that, wealth," and he feels as if he could throttle the man, "I shall care for her interest as I do for my mother, or my sisters. Whatever the result, it is all in her hands; I had no need to marry for money."

"We have digressed widely," suggests Wilmarth, and he hesitates, a little uncertain how to make the next move tell the most cuttingly.

"But you see, with all this in view, I am not likely to rush headlong to ruin. I have taken some of the best counsel I could find. My experience is that a man who firmly believes in the success of what he undertakes is much more likely to succeed, and this Lindmeyer does.

Rising has had charge of a large factory in England. The least I can do is to give them every chance in my power to do their best, and that they shall have."

"And the men?"

"They have acted according to their best judgment," and now it is Grandon's turn to smile grimly. "They may be mistaken; if so, that is their misfortune. I hold steadfastly to _my_ men until the month ends, and their success will decide the new arrangements."

Again Jasper Wilmarth has been worsted. When he started the disaffection among the men he did not count on its culmination quite so soon, and again he has unwittingly played into Floyd Grandon's hands; how fatally he knows best himself.

"Then the men are to consider themselves discharged."

"They are to consider that they discharged themselves," says the master of the situation.

CHAPTER XII.

If you observe us you will find us in our manners and way of living most like wasps.--ARISTOPHANES.

She sits on the wide, fragrant porch with her lovely stepdaughter, watching for the return of her husband and his German friend, with whom he has no end of business. Certainly Violet makes a most amiable wife.

She finds no fault with the all-engrossing business, even in this honeymoon month, but contents herself with Cecil and Denise, with rides and walks, and days spent at the cottage. Denise instructs her in cookery, but she feels as if she should never need the knowledge, since Mrs. Grandon _mere_ is at the head of the great house, with servants to do her bidding.

Violet is musing now over a talk had with Gertrude this afternoon. She was trying to persuade her to join them for a drive. It seems such a dreary life to lie here on the sofa when there is the wide, glowing out of doors.

"Our quiet times will soon come to an end," says Gertrude, complainingly. "Marcia returns presently, and Laura will no doubt come back for a visit, but we are rid of her as a permanency," and she flavors her speech with a bitter little laugh.

"What is Laura like? She is only a year older than I," rejoins Violet.

"But ten years wiser. She has achieved the great aim of a woman's life,--a rich husband."

Violet colors delicately. _She_ has a rich husband, but it was no aim of her life.

"What is Marcia like?" she inquires, timidly.

"She will fret you to death in a week, a faded flirt with the air of sixteen, who sets up for a genius. Get her married if you can. It is fortunate that there is some dispensation of fate to take people out of your way."

"I never had a sister," Violet says, half regretfully.

"Well, you will have enough of us," is the rejoinder. "Though I shall try to make no trouble. A book and a sofa satisfy me."

"Were you always ill? And you must have been pretty! You would be pretty now if you had some color and clearness, such as exercise would give you."

Gertrude is comforted by the naive compliment. No one ever praises her now.

"I was pretty to some one a long while ago," she says, pathetically.

It suggests a lover. "Oh, do tell me!" cries Violet, kneeling by the sofa. Marriage is marriage, of course, and Denise has instructed her in its duties, but is not love something accidental, not always happening in the regular sequence?

"It is not much," confesses Gertrude, "but it once was a great deal to me. I was engaged, and we loved each other dearly. I was soon to be married, the very first of them all, but _he_ went wrong and had to go away in disgrace. It broke my heart!"

"Oh!" and Violet kisses her, with tears on her cheek. No wonder she is so sad and spiritless.

"I don't mind now. Perhaps it would have been no end of a bother, and I'm not fond of children. Cecil is the least troublesome of any I ever saw, but I couldn't have her about all the time, as you do. Yes, it seemed at first as if I must die," she says, in a curious past-despairing tone.

"He may come back," suggests Violet.

"Oh, no! And then one couldn't be disgraced, you know! But it was mean for Laura always to be flaunting her good fortune in my face. I'm glad she is married, and I only wish Marcia was going off. We could settle to comfort the rest of our lives."

Violet is thinking of this brief, blurred story, and wondering how it would seem to love anyone very much beforehand. She has been trained to believe that love follows duty as an obedient handmaid. She likes Mr.

Grandon very much. He is so good and tender, but of course he loves the child the best. Violet is not a whit jealous, for she does not know what love really is in its depth and strength. But it is a mystery, a sort of forbidden fruit to her, and yet she would like one taste of what

"Some have found so sweet."

The carriage-wheels crumble her revery to fine sand. She is not sure whether it is proper to come forward, and there are two more in the carriage, a bright, beautiful woman that she fancies is Madame Lepelletier.

Mrs. Grandon does not leave her in doubt as she hastens forward with a really glad exclamation.

"My dear Laura!"

"Wasn't it odd?" says dear Laura. "We really were not meaning to come up to-day, our hands were so full, but we met Floyd on Broadway, and here we are."

She steps out, stylish, graceful, with that unmistakable society air some people never acquire. She is dressed in a soft black and white checked silk, so fine that it is gray, her chip bonnet is of the same color, with its wreath of gray flowers, and her gloves are simply exquisite. All this seems to set off her fine eyes and brilliant complexion.

Violet catches her husband's eye and joins them, with Cecil by the hand. Floyd looks her over. He has allowed himself an uneasy misgiving for the last half-hour, for Violet's dress is usually so unconventional. But she is in one of her new toilets, a soft, clinging material, with the least touch of tulle at the throat and wrist, and a cl.u.s.ter of white roses at her belt; simple, yet refined, with a delicate grace that savors of Paris.

The introductions follow. There is Prof. Freilgrath, quite different from their old, round, bald German teacher. He is tall and martial-looking, with a fine head, and hair on the auburn tint, a little curling and thin at the edge of the high forehead. His eyes are light blue, keen, good-humored, and he wears gla.s.ses; his nose is large, his mouth rather wide, but his teeth are perfect. His English has a very slight accent, and he impresses one with scholarly ways at once. Arthur Delancy, a very good-looking young man, seems rather insignificant beside him. Violet experiences a thrill of negative preference; she is glad it was not her fate to become Mrs. Delancy.

Some one invites them within.

"Oh, no," responds the professor. "Mrs. Grandon knows what is delightful; let us follow her example and sit here on the porch. You Americans are indoors quite too much. And I want to see the child, Mr.

Grandon's pretty daughter."

"I must be excused then," declares Laura. "They may entertain you, Arthur, but I must see mamma and take off my bonnet."