e 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 when Grandon returns he finds a pale
little nun in black, with a close bonnet and long veil. Cecil has come
with him, and is shocked at this strange metamorphosis. She draws back
in dismay.

"Cecil!" The voice is so longingly, so entreatingly sweet that Floyd
Grandon stands transfixed. "You have not forgotten that you loved me!"

"But--you are not pretty in that bonnet. It is just like grandmamma's,
and the long veil----"

"Never mind, my dear," says her father, and inwardly he anathematizes
fashion. Violet is not as pretty as she was an hour ago. The black
makes her sunshiny hair look almost red, and her face is so very grave.

They have a nice long ride first. Cecil presently thaws into the
mistress of ceremonies in a very amusing manner.

"My doll is not as large as yours," she confesses, "but I will let you