relatives, and we are third or fourth
cousins, so he brought her here. This was more than a month before he
even saw you, and in that time if he _had_ loved her he would have
asked her to marry him; don't you see?"

She gives a long, quivering breath, but her lips are dry. It is not
simply a thought of marriage.

"And I am sure if she had been very much in love with him, she would
have managed to entangle him. Fascinating women of the world can do
that in so many ways. They are simply good friends. Why," she declares,
smilingly, "suppose I was to make myself miserable because you
translated for the professor, you would think me no end of a dunce! It
is just the same. Marcia has a love for making mischief, but you must
not allow her ever to sow any distrust between you and Floyd. The woman
a man chooses is his _true_ love," says Gertrude, waxing enthusiastic,
"not the one he may have fancied or dreamed over long before. Now, you
will not worry about this? Get the roses back to your cheeks, for there
come Floyd and Eugene, and we must dress for dinner."

Gertrude kisses her fondly. She never imagined she could love any woman
as well. Violet goes to arrange her hair, and while she is at it Floyd
comes up with a cheery word. But she feels in a maze. Why should she
care? Does she _care_? Floyd Grandon chose her when he might have had
this fascinating society woman. How much was there in the old love?

He is rather preoccupied with business, and does not remark a little
tremor in her voice. She rubs her cheeks with the soft Turkish towel
until they feel warm, and goes down with him and chattering Cecil.
Marcia is snappy. She and Eugene dispute about some trifle, and Floyd
speaks to her in a very peremptory manner that startles Violet. He does
so hate this little bickering!

Floyd is extremely interested in his wife's appearance the next
morning, and regrets that she cannot wear the train; he selects her
flowers, and looks that she is wrapped good and warm. How very kind he
is! Will she dare believe this is love?

"Do you not look a little pale?" he asks, solicitously.

She is bright enough then and smiles bewitchingly.

When they go up in the dressing-room at madame's, Violet finds Mrs.
Latimer, and she is glad to her heart's depth.

"Oh, you dainty little child!" the lady cries. "You look French with
your chrysanthemums. What elegant ones they are! I want you to come and
spend a whole day with me; we are sort of re