Floyd Grandon's Honor by Amanda Minnie Douglas (finding audrey txt) 📕

succeed. It has been badly handled, not understood. Mr. St. Vincent was not able to make the workmen see with his eyes, and in his state of health he was so excitable, confused, and worried that I don't wonder, indeed, I have this plan to propose. If either of you gentlemen," glancing at Wilmarth and Grandon, "will advance me sufficient means, and allow me to choose my own foreman, perhaps a head man in every department, I will prove to you in a month that the thing is a success, that there is a fortune in it."

The steady, confident ring in the man's voice inspires them all. He is no wild enthusiast. They glance at Wilmarth, as being in some sense head of the business.

He knows, no one better, of all the obstacles that have been placed in the way, so cunningly that no man could put a finger on the motive. It has been his persistent resolve to let everything run down, to bring the business to the very verge of bankruptcy. He did not count on Floyd Grandon being so ready to part with his money to save it, or of ever having any personal interest in it, and he _did_ count on his being disgusted with his brother's selfishness, indolence, and lack of business capacity; all of which he has sedulously fostered, while attaching the young man to him by many indulgences. This part of the game is surely at an end.

Floyd sits silent. How much money will it take? What if he is swallowed down the throat of the great factory! His father's instructions were to the effect that if he could _not_ save it without endangering his private fortune, to let it go. There is still ground that he can sell. There might be a new vein opened in the quarry. He _must_ risk it.

"If Mr. Grandon," says Mr. Wilmarth, with a slow, irritating intonation that hardly conceals insolence, "feels able to advance for the three quarters, I can look after my share. I must confess that I am _not_ an expert in mechanics, and may have been mistaken in some of my views. My late partner was very sanguine, while my temperament is of the doubting order. I am apt to go slowly, but I try to go surely. I am not a rich man," dryly.

"Let it be done, then," returns Grandon. He has no more faith in Wilmarth to-day than he had last week, but he will not work against his own interest, surely!

There are many points to discuss and settle. Lindmeyer will proceed to the factory and get everything in good running order for next week, and hunt up one man who understands this business, an Englishman who is looking around for a permanent position, whom he has known for some years.

"Our superintendent holds his engagement by the year," says Wilmarth, with provoking suavity. "What can we do with him?"

"It is distinctly understood that I am not to be hampered in any way!" protests Lindmeyer.

"Give your man a holiday," says Connery. "Two lords can never agree to rule one household."

"The best thing," decides Grandon.

Then they go to the factory, where an explanation is made to the men. Mr. Brent receives a check for a month's wages in advance, and a vacation. Mr. Wilmarth looks on with a sardonic suavity, saying little, and betraying surprise rather than ill-humor, but he hates Floyd Grandon to the last thread. The man has come between him and all his plans. No mere money can ever make up to him for being thus baffled.

Floyd Grandon takes his way along to the little eyrie. Down in the garden there is a glimpse of a white gown, and now he need pause for no propriety. Violet starts at the step, turns, and colors, but stands quite still. Denise has been giving her some instructions as to her new position and its duties, but has only succeeded in confusing her, in taking away her friend with whom she felt at ease, and giving her a tie that alarms and perplexes.

She is very pale and her deep eyes are filled with a curious, deprecating light. A broad black ribbon is fastened about her waist, and a knot at her throat. She looks so small, so lovely, that he gathers her in his arms.

"My little darling," he begins, in a voice of infinite tenderness, "I seem to neglect you sadly, but there are so many things."

"Do not mind," she answers, softly. "I am quite used to being alone. I missed Cecil very much, though," and her sweet lip quivers. "Oh, are you quite sure, quite satisfied that I can do my duty toward her? I never had a mother of my own to remember, but I will be very good and kind. I love children, and she is so sweet."

"My little girl, you are a child yourself. As the years go on you and Cecil will be more like sisters, companions; and I hope you will always be friends. I must take you home," he continues, abruptly. "My mother and one sister are there; all the rest are away."

She shivers a little. "Am I to live there?" she asks, timidly. She has been thinking how altogether lovely it would be to have him and Cecil here.

"Why, of course. You belong to me now."

He means it for a touch of pleasant intimacy, but she seems to shrink away. In that old time--the brief year--caresses and attention were continually demanded. This new wife does not even meet him half way, and he feels awkward. He can be fond enough of Cecil, and is never at a loss, but this ground is so new that he is inclined to pick his way carefully, with a feeling that she is not at all like any one he has ever known.

They are walking back to the house, and when Denise comes to greet them she sees that the husband has his arm around his young wife's waist. Her Old World idea is that the wife should respect the husband to a point of wholesome fear. They are certainly doing very well. She feels so proud of this great, grave man, with his broad shoulders, his flowing brown beard, his decisive eye, and general air of command.

"Have you had any dinner or lunch?" Violet says, suddenly, moved with a new sense of care.

"Yes. But I think we will have a glass of wine and--Have you eaten anything?"

She colors a little. "No," says Denise. "She doesn't eat enough to keep a cricket alive."

"Then we must have some dinner. Denise will get it. Would you like to come up-stairs with me?"

He has brought home a few papers to put in her father's desk. On the threshold he pauses. The room is in perfect order. The snowy bed, the spotless toilet-table, the clean towels on the rack, with their curious monogram in Denise's needle-work, the table, with an orderly litter of papers, arranged by a woman's hand, and a white saucer filled with purple heliotrope. The arm-chair is a trifle pushed aside, as if some one has just risen, and another chair, as if for a guest, stands there. He understands that she has been busy here. She gives a long sigh.

"My poor darling!"

She is weeping very softly in his arms.

"It is all so sad," she says, "and yet I know he is in heaven with mamma. He loved her very much. Denise told me so. He would not wish to come back even if he could, and it would be selfish to want him. He had to suffer so much, poor papa! But I would like to keep this room just so, and come now and then, if I might."

"You shall. I must talk to Denise." He wonders now how Lindmeyer would like to be here for a month. There are so many things to go over. "Yes," he continues, "this room shall be sacred. No one shall come here but Denise and you."

"Thank you."

They go through to the study. He remembers the picture he saw here one day. Then they continue their walk past her plain little nun's room, with Denise's opening out of it. The house being built on a side-hill makes this just above the kitchen. Down-stairs there are four more rooms.

Never was man more at a loss for some of the kindly commonplaces of society. She seems sacred in her grief, and he cannot offer the stern comfort wherewith a man solaces himself; he is too new for the little nothings of love, and so they walk gravely on, down the stairs again, and out on the porch that hangs over the slope. But she likes him the better for his silence, and the air of strength seems to stir her languid pulses.

Denise summons them to their meal. He pours a trifle of wine for her in the daintiest, thinnest glass, she pours tea for him in a cup that would make a hunter of rare old china thrill to the finger-ends. He puts a bit of the cold chicken on her plate, and insists that she shall try the toast and the creamed potatoes. She has such a meek little habit of obedience that he almost smiles.

When the dessert has been eaten and they rise, Denise says, with kindly authority, "Go take a walk in the garden, Miss Violet, while I talk to Mr. Grandon. Pardon me; madame, I mean."

Grandon smiles, and Violet, looking at him, smiles also, but goes with her light movement, so full of grace.

"It is about the child's clothes, monsieur," Denise begins, her wrinkled face flushing. "She has no trousseau, there has been no time, and I am an old woman, but it is all mourning, and she does not like black. It is too gloomy for the child, but what is to be done?"

Floyd Grandon is much puzzled. If madame,--but no, he would not want madame's wisdom in this case, even if he could have it. There is his mother; well, he cannot ask her. Gertrude would not feel able to bother.

"She wore a dress to the funeral," he says, with the vaguest idea of what it was.

"Her father would have her buy some pretty light things when she was in the city, but her other dresses are what she had at school, gray and black. They are not suitable for madame. Some are still short----"

"You will have to go with her," Grandon says. "I can take you both into the city some day."

"But I do not know----"

"I will find out what is wanted. Yes, you will go with her; she would feel more at home with you," he says, in his authoritative manner.

Denise courtesies meekly.

"I am going to keep the house just as it is," announces Grandon. "She will like to come every day until she gets a little settled in her new home. I hope she will be happy."

"She could not fail to be happy with you and your little girl." Denise answers, with confident simplicity.

Floyd bethinks himself. Mrs. Grandon must be taken home in the carriage. He will begin by paying her all honor. There is no one to send, so he must e'en but go himself. He finds Violet in the garden and tells her to make herself ready against his coming.

She would like to go in her white dress, just as she is, but Denise overrules so great a blunder, and