her light hair flying about, her cheeks red with
the wind, her face in a kind of satisfied smirk. You can never quite
tell where this starts from; it is in the little crease in the brows,
in the nose slightly drawn, in the lines about the mouth, and the
rather sharp chin. Nature has not been as bountiful to Marcia in the
matter of charms as to the others; she has stinted here and there, and
it shows clearly as she grows older. But as she gives her head an airy
toss and shakes the Skye fluff out of her eyes, he smiles. It would be
an immense joke to marry Marcia Grandon; an immense mortification as
well! To be Floyd Grandon's brother-in-law, to have the _entree_ of the
great house, to come very near Violet Grandon and perhaps drop a bitter
flavor in her cup!

Marcia Grandon is not sharp enough to outwit him anywhere and he would
always be master; that is another point scored. Then he might make some
moves through her that would otherwise be impossible.

Floyd comes out and springs in the carriage, indulgently allowing her
to drive. Violet has had a cold and been in-doors for several days, but
looks bright and well when she greets him. She is such a dear, happy
little thing!

Not many days after this Wilmarth meets Marcia bowling along in the
spring sunshine. He raises his hat, pauses, and with her coquettish
instinct she stops.

"Good day, Miss Grandon," he says, with a low bow. "I thought of coming
down to call on you. Have you given up all your old habits of
designing? We have some large orders and I am quite in trouble about
patterns,--I suppose your brother told you?"

"Oh, he never tells _me_ anything!" with an assumed air of disdain.
"And he would be sure to consult Mrs. Grandon, who draws a little, like
every school girl!"

"I dare say he never gave it a second thought," returns Wilmarth, in a
reflective manner. "Well, _have_ you given it up?"

"I have been painting in oils for the last year or two," and nose and
chin indulge in an extra tilt. "I dare say I _could_ design, though."

"Well, bring some in, if you can. I believe my brain begins to get
rusty. Will you come--soon? You will always find me in my office."

There is something in the inflection of the voice that secretly
delights Marcia. She has a taste for mystery and intrigue, but she is
not secretive, she has too much vanity.

"I will, as soon as I can get about it," with what she considers
well-bred indifference.

She shuts herself up in h