-like treble, Mr. Haviland's slow but not unmelodious tone, and
Pauline's witching mockery. Her father has been teazing her, and when
Violet comes down, she stands in the hall, golden crowned and rose-red,
slim and tall, and is the embodiment of delight.

It all comes out, of course. Eugene bears his honors gallantly, and
looks handsomer than ever. Mr. Murray is really proud of Polly's
choice, for, after all, the principal duty of the young people will be
to charm society. Eugene is a high-bred, showy animal, with regular
points and paces, and is not to be easily distanced on the great course
of fashion. Violet watches him in dim amaze. Is he assuming all this
joy and delight?

"It's just too lovely!" Polly says afterward, when she gets Mrs.
Grandon alone. "And do you know, I _was_ jealous last night when you
and Eugene meandered up and down the shrubbery;" and a secret elation
shines in her eyes. "I made him tell me all you said; _did_ you really
want him to marry me? Do you love me, you dear little angel?"

If she is a little struck at Eugene's way of confessing to his
sweetheart, she does not betray any suspicion of mendacity. She can
truly say she likes Pauline, and that she is glad of the engagement,
that she and Polly are certain to be the best of friends. The warms
arms around her are so fond, the kisses so delicately sweet, the
exaggerations of feeling are so utterly delicious, that Violet yields
to the fascination and adores Polly to her heart's content, and Polly
promises that Eugene shall dance with her and be just the same real
brother that he was before.

It seems as though business had but just begun. The elders talk law: it
is the surrogate's office and the orphans' court and published notices.
Eugene formally dissolves partnership with Jasper Wilmarth, and for a
"consideration," which he insists is Polly, transfers his half to Mr.
Murray. Wilmarth is offered a large price for his quarter-share, but he
resolves to fight to the bitter end. Of course he must give up, but he
means to make all the trouble possible. Marcia flies hither and thither
like a wasp, stinging wherever she can, but in these days Violet is
guarded a good deal by Polly and her lover. Grown bolder, she at length
attacks Floyd, accusing him of treachery and avarice and half the
crimes in the calendar. Violet's fortune is flung up,--"The fortune no
one else would touch, though it was offered to them," says Marcia,
crushingly.

Floyd