le
every way, especially now that Floyd is likely to become an attractive
and notable member of society.

"Everybody wants to see him," declares Laura, much aggrieved. "Mr.
Latimer was talking yesterday. I think they will give him a dinner. And
this house ought to be a sort of headquarters,--made really celebrated,
you know. I like a good supper and a German, but it _is_ the fashion to
be literary. Everybody travels and writes a book, and just now all
these queer old things have come around. I don't care a penny how long
the world has stood or what people did two thousand years ago; my good
time is _now_, but we must keep in the stream. I count myself a very
fortunate girl. I can have all that is best in fashion through Mrs.
Vandervoort, and all that is intellectual through Mrs. Latimer, so you
see I come in for both. Then if Floyd had married Madame Lepelletier,
there would have been another set here. But that little dowdy, who
doesn't even know how to dress decently! Common respect ought to teach
her about mourning!"

"Her trousseau ought to be right; it was made by Madame Vauban,"
interposes Gertrude.

"Madame Vauban! Never!" ejaculates Laura, in quite a dramatic tone.

"But I tell you it was! And Floyd had all the ordering, I dare say. He
isn't fond of mourning."

"And the paying, too," sneers Laura.

"Well, she has the cottage, and if Floyd is going to make such a
fortune for her, he _could_ pay himself back, granting he did spend
_his_ money, which I very much doubt."

"The fortune is yet to be made," retorts Laura, with a superior air.
"There may never be any. _We_ may not ever get _our_ own."

"Then," says Gertrude, poising her weapon steadily, "he bought _your_
wedding clothes as well."

"He is _my_ brother. I should look well asking Arthur to pay such
bills."

"Do let them alone," exclaims Gertrude, angrily. "You married to please
yourself, and so did he."

"_If_ he did. I only hope there may be enough in it to keep him
pleased. The marriage is utterly incongruous every way."

Gertrude relapses into silence and her book. Why can they not be
peaceable and let each other alone? It was so pleasant before they all
came home.

Marcia soon nurses up a grievance. Why is a mere child like Violet to
be allowed to spend hours with this wonderful professor, pretending to
translate or copy, while she, who has actually translated poems for
publication, is kept outside of the charmed circle? How delightful