What a lucky girl you are, or will be if Floyd's plans come out
right," and Marcia nods to Violet. "Only I should hate all that
wretched waiting!"

"How long must I wait?" There is a lurking smile in Violet's brown
eyes.

"How long?--don't _you_ know?" accenting the words with surprise. "Why
this is quite a mystery. I have heard of heiresses being kept in the
dark for evil purposes," and Marcia gives her head an airy toss. "Have
you never seen your father's will? Until you are twenty-five--but I
shouldn't feel at all obliged to Floyd for tying it up so securely. I
dare say he could have persuaded your father differently!"

Violet colors with a curious sense of displeasure. Gertrude gives a
warning look, and for fear of that failing in its mission, touches
Marcia's foot under the table.

"I suppose he--they both did what they thought best," Violet says, hurt
somehow at the signal and a consciousness of some secrecy.

"Oh, of course, of course! Men always do take their own way; they think
they are so much wiser than women, selfish beings!" exclaims Marcia, on
another tack. Gertrude bestirs herself to make a diversion, but a
latent wonder lingers in Violet's mind. She does not really care about
any knowledge being kept away from her, and she has known all along
that she was something of an heiress. Did not Mr. Grandon admit that
when they talked about the trousseau? A sense of mystery comes up about
her like a thick, gray mist, and she shivers. She cannot tell why, but
the joy of the day is over.

When they reach home there is company for Marcia, two especial guests,
that she takes up to her sanctum, and is seen no more until the
dinner-bell summons her. Eugene is in an uncomfortable mood and teases
Cecil. Violet seems always a little afraid of this handsome young man,
who has a way of making inscrutable remarks. Her music is melancholy
this evening, and Cecil is difficult to please, so she is glad when
bedtime comes and with it a _resume_ of the times of the wonderful
Haroun al Raschid. But when Cecil falls asleep an intense feeling of
loneliness seizes her. It seems as if she was somewhere in a wide
desert waste.

Mr. Grandon is to spend the night in the city. She wonders where he is!
There was the reception to the professor, there was a grand dinner for
gentlemen only, at the house of some famous person, there has been
business. She would like to imagine the scene for her own interest. How
strange, she thinks,