ves."

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
cluster 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 glasses; 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