The business, too, would be of so much more account to Eugene,
and he is in most need of a fortune. Jasper Wilmarth wonders if a time
of regret will come to him.

Wafts of music float out on the summer night air. There is some dancing
and much promenading. Marcia has a surprise in store, a series of
tableaux arranged out of doors, with a pale rose light that renders
them extremely effective, and they are warmly applauded. The guests sit
at the tables and enjoy creams, ices, and salads: it is the perfection
of a garden party. Marcia is in rather aesthetic attire, but it is
becoming, and she is brimful of delight, though she wishes Floyd were
here to see. She has a misgiving that he does not mean to rate Jasper
Wilmarth very highly, and her wifely devotion resents it, for she is
devoted. Jasper Wilmarth is both pleased and interested in the puppet
he can move hither and thither to his liking, and occasionally to his
service. He is gratified to see her party a success, though somewhat
annoyed at the defection of his brother-in-law, who so far has not been
his guest. He is piqued, too, about the sudden journey, and remembers
now that a telegram came for him this morning. There is no business
connection in Baltimore that need be made a secret, unless it is some
secret of his own.

"There," exclaims Eugene, "a waltz at length! I began to think the ogre
had forbidden so improper a proceeding. Now you are to waltz with me."
And he rises, with her hand in his, but Violet keeps her seat.

"Why is waltzing considered improper?" she asks, slowly.

"Upon my life I don't know, unless, like the woman, you have to draw
the line somewhere, and it is drawn at your relations or your husband.
I have it--bright thought--it is to give _them_ some especial
privileges that will rouse the envy of the rest of the world. For
myself I think it a humbug. There are other dances quite as
reprehensible when you come to that, but I've never come to harm in
any," and he laughs. "And as for flirting, there are devices many and
various; when you reach that point, Madame Lepelletier can do more with
her eyes than any dozen girls I know could with their feet. Come."

"I think--I do not feel like it," replies Violet.

"Oh, don't wear the willow!" advises the young man. "You have just been
up in one quadrille, and people will notice it. Besides, I was very
particular to respect any lingering prejudice my august brother might
have had."

"And he said