d he
glances into her deep, dewy eyes, her face that is a glow of delight.

"Marcia has been very kind, and has let me drive Dolly a little. I
should not be afraid, and it would be so delightful."

"You quite deserve it, I have to leave you so much to entertain
yourselves. Now rest a little and I will walk back with you."

The professor comes out. "They will stay for lunch, good Denise," he
announces, quite peremptorily. "Good morning, Mrs. Grandon; good
morning, little one! We have been sadly dissipated fellows, going
around on what you call 'larks,' and you ought to scold us both."

"I don't know why!" she rejoins, with a bright smile. She is suddenly
very happy; it tingles along every nerve.

"What a pretty--hood, do you call it?" says Grandon, rather awkwardly,
trying to unfasten Violet's wrap.

"And the little one is a picture!" adds the professor, glancing from
one to the other.

"Mamma made mine," cries Cecil. "She had one when she was a little
girl, and her papa brought it from Paris."

Grandon laughs. They go to look at the designs, and Violet makes
business-like little comments that surprise them both. She is so eager
to have the book done, to see it in proper shape with her own eyes. "I
shall really feel famous," she declares, with a pretty air of
consequence, archly assumed.

The lunch is delightful, and Violet confesses that yesterday they all
entered with felonious intent, and did eat and drink, and surreptitiously
waste and destroy.

"You didn't get Gertrude here?" asks Floyd. "What magic did you use?"

"And Denise made such a lovely fire for her," says Cecil. "She wasn't a
bit cold. I wish we could live here, it is so little and nice."

That seems to amuse the professor greatly. He feeds Cecil grapes, and
plans how it shall be. Grandon, too, seems in unusual spirits; and
presently they have an enchanting walk home. The October day is
gorgeous, and they find some chestnuts. The pony carriage is talked
over again, and Floyd promises to look it up immediately.

That evening at dinner Marcia says, suddenly, "Did you and the
professor dine with madame last night? Mother's letter came this
morning, in which she spoke of expecting you. Of course madame looked
like a queen in

"'The folds of her wine-dark velvet dress.'"

"It was--blue or green or something, only _not_ wine-color," says
Floyd.

"Was any one else there?"

"No, it was just for the professor."

"She might have had the go