ng
of the polished man of the world, he is thinking only of Violet in
white wrappers, with a cluster of flowers at her throat, she would be
more than ever amazed at his idiocy.

There is to be a small company at Mrs. Brade's the next evening, a
reception to "dear Laura."

"You _must_ come," declares Mrs. Brade, emphatically. "We ought to
have a chance at our old friend, and you and the boys grew up together.
Do you remember how you used to roast corn and apples at the kitchen
fire, and go over your Latin? Why, it seems only yesterday, and all my
children are married and gone, save Lucia."

"I shall have to be excused," Floyd Grandon says, in a quiet tone, but
with a smile that is fully as decisive. "I shall owe to-morrow evening
to my wife, who cannot yet leave her room."

"How very sad and unfortunate! Are we never to have a sight of her, Mr.
Grandon, except the glimpses in the carriage and at church?"

"Certainly," he answers. "Circumstances have kept us from society, and
I have really had no time for its claims, but I hope to have more
presently for it, as well as for her."

"We shall be glad to see you, never doubt that. Lucia will be so
disappointed to-morrow evening."

Grandon bows. Is there anything more to say proper to the occasion? He
has heard so much during the last three months that he has grown quite
nervous on the subject of society etiquette.

On the morrow Violet is anxious to hear about the dinner. She is young
and full of interest in gay doings, in spite of her early sorrow. He
makes blunders over the dresses, and they both laugh gayly; he
describes the guests and the old friends, and the complimentary
inquiries about her.

"I wish you could be there on Thursday evening," he says, regretfully.
"That is to be a party with dancing, and plenty of young
people,--Laura's companions."

"And I have never been to a real party in all my life!" she cries. "I
suppose I couldn't dance, but I could look on, and there is my lovely
dress!"

"You shall have a party for your own self, and all the dancing you
want," he answers.

"Can _you_ waltz, Mr. Grandon?" she asks, after a moment's thought.

He laughs. The idea of Floyd Grandon, traveller and explorer, whirling
round in a giddy waltz!

"It isn't so ridiculous," she says, her face full of lovely, girlish
resentment. "At school we learned to waltz, but it was with girls,
and--I couldn't ever waltz with any one but you, because--because----"
and h