y being. Is this love?

A strange thrill runs over her. The lights, the dancing, the talk
beside her, might all be leagues away. She is penetrated, possessed by
a blissful knowledge, something deeper, finer, keener than she has ever
dreamed, not simply the reverence and obedience of the marriage vow
that she has supposed included all. And then comes another searching
question,--how much of just this kind of love has Floyd Grandon for
her?

The waltz has ended, and the lanciers begun. She will not dance that,
but sends Eugene in quest of another partner, at which he grumbles. The
Latimers are not here,--a sick baby has prevented,--though now Violet
begins to feel quite at home with many of the dwellers in the park and
about. Even madame searches her out presently.

"My dear child," she says, in that soft, suave tone, "are you not well
this evening? You are such a little recluse."

"Quite well." And the brilliant face answers for her.

"Then you are not enjoying yourself. You young people ought to be up in
every set."

"I did dance. But I like to look on. The figures are so graceful, and
the music is bewitching."

"It seems unnatural for one of your age to be merely a spectator. How
lovely Eugene and Mrs. Carpenter look together! She is just about your
size and dances with the _verve_ of youth, which I admire extremely.
Gravity at that age always seems far-fetched, put on as a sort of
garment to hide something not quite frank or open, but it never can
conceal the fact that it covers thoughts foreign to youth."

Violet wonders if she has been unduly grave this evening. She _has_
something to conceal, a sweet, sacred secret that only one person may
inquire into. Will he, some day? He has never yet asked her the lover's
question to which it would be so sweet to reply.

"There," exclaims Eugene, sitting down beside her, "I have done my
duty. The very next waltz, remember."

The last is in a whisper, and it brings the bright color to her face,
brighter because madame's eyes are upon her; but fortunately for her
peace, madame is wanted.

"Do you know," says Eugene, "I am very glad you married Floyd, for I
_do_ think it would have ended by his taking her; not that he cared
particularly, and the queer thing was that Cecil would not make friends
with her; but she is the kind of woman who generally gets everything
she tries for. And I do believe she envies you your home and your
husband."

"Oh!" cries Violet, much a