m of
not endeavoring to live up to it. Both of our lives have doubtless been
the better, and we have proved that it makes us none the less friends."

There is no agitation in voice or face. He stands here calmly beside
the woman he was to have married, and both he and she know the regard
has perished utterly. An hour ago he would hardly have said what he
has. Why does he feel so free to say it now? She is superbly tranquil
as well, but she knows him for a man who holds his honor higher than
any earthly thing. If Violet St. Vincent had not come between, she
might have won him, but now all the list of her fascinations cannot
make him swerve.

"I ought," he continues, scarcely heeding the momentary silence, "to
thank you in behalf of my wife as well. You have shown us both many
kindnesses. You have been a true friend."

He never makes the slightest reference to any family disagreements or
any lack of welcome his wife has experienced.

"I should have done a great deal more if Mrs. Grandon had been less shy
of strangers," she makes answer, quietly.

They walk up and down in silence. The river ripples onward, the moon
sails in serenest glory, the wind wafts the melody down from the wide
verandas, and it trembles on the river, making a faint echo of return
from the other side. They are both thinking,--Grandon of Violet, and
madame of him. She has found few men so invincible, even among those
very much in love. There is a certain expression in his face which she
as a woman of the world and read in many fascinations understands; it
is loyal admiration, for he is constrained to admire in all honesty,
but it falls far short of that flash of overmastering feeling, so often
mistaken for love and leading to passion, the possibility of being
tempted. It would satisfy her vanity better to believe him incapable of
a deep and fervent love, but she knows better. When he is touched by
the divine fire he will respond, and she envies bitterly the woman who
is destined thus to awaken him. Will it be Violet? She crushes her
white teeth together at the thought, imagining that she would feel
better satisfied to have it any other woman. But why should he not go
on this way? Let him honor the girl whom circumstances and not election
have given for a wife, so that in real regard he sets her no higher
than a friend.

"We must go back," she says, with a touch of regret in her voice. "One
could stay here forever, but there are duties and duties