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

a desire to see my friend's house on this occasion. But why were you not moved?" and he turns his questioning eyes on Violet.

"The doctor forbade it," answers Violet. "And I want to get thoroughly well, so I obey."

"That is good, that is good," replies the professor, in a tone of the utmost commendation.

They have a most agreeable chat until Mr. Grandon comes in, when Denise sends up some tea and wafer biscuits that would tempt an anchorite. The carriage is at the door for Gertrude, and an urgent note for Floyd, who has been deep in business all the afternoon, making up Eugene's shortcomings.

"You must go," Violet says, but it is half questioningly.

"Yes. Gertrude, I shall be very glad to have you keep me in countenance. We will discourse cynically upon the follies of the day and young people in general."

"No," Violet says, with pretty peremptoriness. "Gertrude is going to be young to-night. Oh, what will you wear?"

"There is nothing but black silk," answers Gertrude, "and that never was especially becoming, as I can indulge in no accessories. But Laura's dress is perfection. The palest, loveliest pink you can imagine, and no end of lace. Luckily, Mr. Delancy has not his fortune to make."

Floyd kisses his wife tenderly and whispers some hurried words of comfort. When they are gone the professor drops into his own luxurious chair and does not allow Mrs. Grandon time for despondency. He has an Old World charm; he has, too, the other charm of a young and fresh heart when he is not digging into antiquities.

Some way the talk comes around to Gertrude. She is so delicate, so melancholy, she shrinks so away from all the happy confusion that most women love. "Is it her grief for her father?" he asks.

"I don't think it all that," says Violet, with a most beguiling flush. "There was another sorrow in her life, a--she loved some one very much. If he had died it would not have been as bad, but--oh, I wonder if I _ought_ to tell?" and she finds so much encouragement in his eyes that she goes on. "He was--very unworthy."

"Ah!" The professor strokes and fondles his long, sunny beard. "But she should cast him out, she should not keep pale and thin, and in ill health, and brood over the trouble."

"I do not believe her life is--well, you see they all have other pursuits and are fond of society, and she stays too much alone," explains Violet, with a perplexed brow. "She is so good to me, I like her."

"Who could help being good to thee, _mignonne_?" and the look with which he studies the flower-like face brings a soft flush to it. Torture would not make her complain, but she feels in her inmost soul that Gertrude, alone, has been even kind. And she wishes somehow she could make him like her better than any of the others, even the beautiful madame, about whom he is enthusiastic.

"Bah!" he says. "Why should one go mourning for an unworthy love? When it is done and over there is the end. When you are once disenchanted, how can you believe?"

"But you are not disenchanted," says Violet, stoutly. "You have believed and loved, you have made a little world of your own, and even if it does go down in the great ocean you can never quite forget it was there."

"But there are other worlds. See, Mrs. Grandon, when I was two-and-twenty I loved to madness. She was eighteen and adorable, but her mother would not hear to a betrothment. I had all my fortune yet to make. I threw up my hopes and aims and took to commercial pursuits, which I hated. We exchanged vows and promised to wait, and the end of it was that she married a handsome young fellow with a fortune. I went back to my books. A few years afterward I saw her, stout, rosy, and happy, with her two children, and then--well, I did not want her. The life she delighted in would have been ashes in my mouth. It was better, much better. People are not all wise at two-and-twenty."

"If Gertrude had something to do," says Violet, "and that is where men are fortunate. They can try so many things."

The professor goes on stroking his head, and drops into a revery. "Yes, it is hard," he says, "it is hard." And he wonders not at the colorless life.

But he must smoke his pipe and then dress for the party, so he bids Violet a cordial good evening. She feels a little tired after all the excitements of the day, and is glad to have Denise put her in bed, where she lies dreamily and wonders what love is like.

Meanwhile the reception is at its height, and it is certainly a success. Laura has discriminated in this affair, like a shrewd woman of the world that she is already. The dinner had to satisfy the _amour propre_ of old friends; this was allowed a wider latitude. The rooms are brilliantly lighted, and glow with autumn flowers; the wide out of doors with its rich fragrance shows in colored tones and blended tints, sending long rays over the river. Floyd Grandon may well be proud of his home, and to-night, in spite of some discomforts, he feels that he would not exchange it for anything he has seen that it was possible for him to possess. If Violet were only here! How she would enjoy the lights, the music, the throngs of beautifully dressed women! Floyd Grandon is no cynic. He admires beauty and grace and refinement, and it is here at its best, its finest. Not mere youthfulness. There are distinguished people, who would have gone twice the distance to meet Mr. Grandon and Prof. Freilgrath. The Latimers are really enchanted, and Mrs. Delancy rises in the esteem of many who have looked upon her as simply a bright and pretty girl who has made a good marriage.

Indirectly this is of immense benefit to the business, though that was farthest from Laura's thoughts. There have been rumors that "Grandon & Co." have not prospered of late, and there is a curiously indefinite feeling about them in business circles. The rumor gains credence from this on, that Floyd Grandon's private fortune is something fabulous, and that for family reasons he stands back of all possible mishap; that a misfortune will not be allowed.

If Eugene is not a success amid the toil and moil of business, he shines out pre-eminently on such occasions as these. His handsome face and fine society breeding render him not only a favorite, but a great attraction. Not a girl but is honored by his smile, and the elder ladies give him that charming indulgence which is incense to his vanity. Eugene Grandon is too thoroughly selfish to be silly or even weak, and this very strength of demeanor carries a certain weight, even with men, and is irresistible to the tenderer sex.

If there is a spot that is touched it is his utter admiration for madame. She treats him as if he were still in the tender realms of youth; she calls him Eugene, and asks pretty favors of him in a half-caressing manner that is not to be misunderstood. She puts the years between them in a very distinct manner. She will have no "philandering." He _belongs_ to the young girls. She dances with him several times, and then chooses partners for him. She is regal to-night, that goes without saying. Her velvet is a pale lavender, that in certain lights looks almost frost white, and it fits her perfect figure admirably.

Laura has been disappointed in the wish of her soul, her grand stroke.

"Floyd," she said, when he came down, looking the faultless gentleman, "you must open the dancing with Madame Lepelletier. You can walk through a quadrille, so you need not begin with excuses. I have arranged the set."

"In this you _must_ excuse me, Laura," he answers, with quiet decision. "I have not danced for years, and, under the circumstances----"

"You don't mean you are going to turn silly, just because--your wife is not here?" and her authority dominates his. "It would not be decent for her to dance if she were here! We never even went to a dancing party after papa's death, until--well, not until this autumn, and I wouldn't marry before six months had elapsed. Then, I have everything planned, I have even spoken to madame. O Floyd!" and seeing his face still unrelenting, her eyes fill with tears.

"My dear Laura----" A woman's slow tears move him inexpressibly, while noisy crying angers him, and he bends to kiss her. "Do not feel hurt, my child. Command me in anything else, but this I cannot do."

"Oh, I know, she made you promise, the mean, jealous little thing!"

"Hush," he commands. "She asked no favors and I made no promises. She would not care if I danced every set."

"That is just it!" cries Laura, angrily. "She doesn't care, she doesn't know----"

"She is my wife!" He walks away, so indignant the first moment that he all but resolves to return to Violet, then his duty as host presents itself. He and the professor and a few others keep outside of the magic circle, but no one would suspect from his demeanor that he had been ruffled for an instant. There is enough enjoyment in the rambles about the lawn and smoking on the balcony. It is the perfection of an early autumn night; in fact, for two or three days it has been unusually warm.

Gertrude looks quite well for her. Madame has added a few incomparable toilet touches. Floyd is attentive to her, and Prof. Freilgrath takes her to supper, promenades with her, and is quite delightful for an old bookworm. Mr. Latimer talks to her and finds her a great improvement on Marcia, but the German keeps thinking over her poor little story. If there _was_ something for her to do! and he racks his brain. There are no crowds of nephews and nieces, there is no house to keep, there is no gardening, and he remembers his own busy countrywomen.

A little whisper floats about in the air that young Mrs. Grandon is not _quite_--but no one finishes the sentence that Laura so points with a shrug. It seems a pity that a man of his position and attainments should stumble upon such a _mesalliance_. The sprained ankle is all very well, but the feeling is that some lack in gift or grace or education is quite as potent as any physical mishap in keeping her away to-night. Gertrude, out of pure good-nature, praises her, but Gertrude is a little _passe_ and rather out of society. The professor speaks admiringly, but he is Mr. Grandon's _confrere_, and a scholar is not a very good judge of a young girl's capacity to fill such a place in the world as Mrs. Floyd Grandon's _ought_ to be. But all this creates in his favor a romantic sympathy, and this evening men and women alike have found him charming.


CHAPTER XVII.

Of a truth there are many unexpected things in a long life.--ARISTOPHANES.

"With whom did you dance?" Violet asks, her face one lovely glow of eager interest; jealousy and she are unknown at this period.

"Dance? an old fellow like me?"

"You are not old!" and her face is a delicious study of indignation. "You are not as old as the professor."

"But he did not dance, and Gertrude did not