adame tickets, and he had an hour or two on
his hands while waiting for proofs. In all these interviews Violet's
name has not been mentioned. His marriage is a matter of course, he is
not sailing under any false colors, he has made no protestations of
friendship, still he has an uneasy feeling. If Violet only could go
into society, yet he knows intuitively the two women never could be
friends, though he has no great faith in the friendship of women for
women; it is seldom the sort of a stand-up affair for all time that
pins a man's faith to another. He wonders, too, what Violet is doing.
How she would enjoy these lovely rooms! She could not sit at the head
of a table a queen, but then she is young yet. Madame was not
perfection at seventeen, and he strongly suspects that he was a prig.
Could he take Violet to a _matinee_? If there was someone he dared ask.

It is midnight when the two men walk home to their hotel. Grandon feels
as if he has taken too much wine, though he is always extremely
moderate.

"She is perfection!" declares the professor, enthusiastically. "You
have many charming women, but I have seen none as superb as she. There
is an atmosphere of courts about her, and so well informed, so delicate
with her knowledge, not thrusting it at you with a shout. You have
given me the greatest of pleasure. If I were not an old tramp, with a
knapsack on my shoulder, I do not know what would happen! I might be
the fly in the flame!"

Floyd laughs amusedly. There is about as much danger of Freilgrath
falling in love with her as there is of himself. Would he have, he
wonders, if other events had not crowded in and almost taken the right
of choice from him? It would not have been a bad match if Cecil had
loved her, and she _does_ love Violet. His heart gives a great throb as
he thinks of the two in each other's arms, sleeping sweetly. All the
passion of his soul is still centred in Cecil.

Yet he feels a trifle curious about himself. Is he stock or stone? He
has known of strong men being swept from their moorings when duty,
honor, and all that was most sacred held them elsewhere; nay, he has
even seen them throw away the world and consider it well lost for a
woman's love. If he should never see madame again he would not grieve
deeply, but being here he will see her often, and there is no danger.

By some curious cross-light of mental retrospect he also knows that if
Violet were the beloved wife of any other man--the l