ming, and fits her tall, slender
figure to perfection; just under the brim of her bonnet are two
pale-pink crush roses, the only tint of color. No one could imagine so
much improvement possible. Floyd gives her away also. He has endeared
her by many kindnesses, but the last is placing her present and
possible fortune in her hands.

"But if you should never be able to get it all out of the business?"
she asks, and her eyes moisten.

"Then," he answers, "the rest is my wedding gift to you. I should like
to make it much larger."

"O Floyd, what a good brother you have been! And we have never thought
of anything but just our own selves," she adds, remorsefully.

"Yes," he rejoins, "_you_ have thought of Violet."

Then they all go down to the city to see Gertrude start on her new
journey. Floyd and the professor wring each other's hands,--they have
been like brothers so long! Surely, even if he had thought of it, he
could have wished Gertrude no better fate. He is curiously moved by the
professor's very earnest regard, though he knows it must half be pity,
tenderness. His face is bright and cheerful, and his voice rings out
heartily. He will bring back Frau Freilgrath so stout and rosy that no
one will recognize her.

They are all very tired when they reach home. Mrs. Grandon is the
happiest. She is the mother of two well-married daughters. They will be
no further expense or care, and perhaps some one may pick up Marcia.
She is no better reconciled to her son's marriage; in truth, as it
sometimes happens where no real fault can be discovered, an obstinate
person will fall back upon a prejudice. For a governess Violet would
answer admirably, but she has no qualification for the position into
which she has thrust herself.

January comes in bitterly cold, and the great house is very lonely.
Marcia is flitting about, Mrs. Grandon makes another visit to New York,
Eugene is moody and distraught, for he is very much smitten with
madame, who, to do her justice, does not encourage the passion, though
in a certain way she enjoys the young man's adoration. Then, too, he is
extremely miserable about money. He hates to curtail any indulgence, he
is fond of theatres, operas, _petit soupers_, fresh gloves, and fast
horses, and he is put upon an allowance, which makes him hate Floyd and
grumble to Wilmarth.

Floyd is deep in a literary venture, or rather it is no venture at all,
a series of travels and descriptions of out-of-the-w