Floyd Grandon's Honor Part 38

"Well, it was a charming call. I was a little afraid Laura would be vexed over the cup; you see, I don't know the propriety of gift-giving, but I _do_ know the delight"; and her face is in a lovely glow. "Why do you suppose people care so much for those things? Papa was always collecting. Why, _we_ could almost open a museum."

"You can sell them, in a reverse of fortune," says the professor, with an amusing smile.

Floyd inquires if she will return to her room, but Freilgrath insists that they shall have tea in here. Mrs. Grandon is his first lady guest.

The carriage meanwhile rolls away in silence. Laura and Gertrude bickered all the way over, and now, if Gertrude had enough courage and was aggressive by nature, she would retort, but peace is so good that she enjoys every precious moment of it; but at night, when Laura is lingering in Madame Lepelletier's room, while Arthur smokes the remnant of his cigar on the porch, she says, with a sort of ironical gayety,--

"Well, were you quite extinguished by Mrs. Floyd? You seem dumb and silent! She looked exceptionally well, toned down and all that, though I did expect to find her playing with a doll."

"She is quite a pretty girl," returns madame, leisurely, carefully folding her exquisite lace fichu and laying it back in its scented box.

"Very young, of course, and will be for years to come, yet tolerably presentable for an _ingenue_. And after all, Laura, she is your brother's wife."

"But the awful idiocy of Floyd marrying her! And demure as she looks, she makes desperately large eyes at the professor. So you see she has already acquired _one_ requisite of fas.h.i.+onable life."

"There will be less to learn," replies madame, with charming good-nature.

"Oh, I suppose we _shall_ have to take her up some time, but I can never get over my disappointment, never! It is seeing her in _that_ place that makes me so savage!" and she kisses the handsome woman, who forgives her; and who hugs to her heart the secret consciousness that Floyd Grandon does not love his wife, though he may be fond of her.

Violet improves rapidly, and is taken out to drive, for Floyd cannot bear to have her lose the fine weather. They read a little French together, and he corrects her rather too provincial p.r.o.nunciation. Her education is fairly good in the accomplishments, and she will never shame him by any ignorance, unless in some of the little usages of society that he knows no more about than she. Her innocent sweetness grows upon him daily; he is glad, yes, really glad that he has married her.

When she does finally return home she is chilled again by the contrast.

Marcia has gone to Philadelphia; Mrs. Grandon is cold to a point of severity, and most untender to Cecil. Her surprise is a beautiful new piano, for Laura's has gone to the city. She begins at once with Cecil's lessons, and this engrosses her to some extent. Cecil is quick and rapturously fond of music, "real music" as she calls it, but scales and exercises are simply horrible. Gertrude comes in now and then, oddly enough, and insists that it rather amuses her. She sits with her in the evenings when Floyd is away, and often accompanies her in a drive. Violet does not imagine there is any ulterior motive in all this, but Gertrude is really desirous of helping to keep the peace.

When she is present Mrs. Grandon is not so scornful or so aggressive.

Gertrude does not want hard or stinging words uttered that might stir up resentment. If Violet cannot love, at least let her respect. It will be an old story presently, and the mother will feel less bitter about it.

It is such a strange thing for Gertrude to think of any one beside herself that her heart warms curiously, seems to come out of her everlasting novels and takes an interest in humanity, in nature, to go back to the dreams of her lost youth. Violet is so sweet, so tender! If she had known any such girl friend then, but she and Marcia never have been real friends. There is another delicate thought in Gertrude's soul. Laura and her mother have sneered about the professor, with whom they are all charmed, nevertheless; and she means that no evil tongue shall say with truth that Violet is alone too much with him or lays herself out to attract him. She furbishes up her old knowledge and talks with them, she reads the books he has recommended to Violet, and they discuss them together until it appears as if she were the interested one. She nearly always goes with her to the cottage.

Sometimes she wonders why she does all this when it is such a bore. Why should she care about Violet particularly? But when the soft arms are clasped round her neck and the sweet, fragrant lips throb with tender kisses, she wakes to a sad and secret knowledge of wasted years.

To Violet there comes one crowning glory, that is the promised _matinee_. Miss Neilson is to play _Juliet_, and though Floyd considers it rather weak and sweet, Violet is enraptured.

"Would you like to go to a lunch or dinner at Madame Lepelletier's?" he asks.

Violet considers a moment. She cannot tell why, but she longs for this pleasure _alone_ with Mr. Grandon. It will be her first real enjoyment with him.

"Would you--rather?"

There is an exquisite timidity in her voice, the touch of deference to the husband's wishes that cannot but be flattering. She will go if _he_ desires it. He has only to speak. He remembers some one else who never considered his pleasure or desire.

"My child, no!" and he folds her to his heart. "She wants you to come, some time; she has spoken of it."

"I should like this to be just between _us_." There is the loveliest little inflection on the plural. "And I should like to go there, too."

"Then it shall be just between _us_." Something in his eyes makes the light in hers waver and go down; she trembles and would like to run away, only he is holding her so tightly.

"What is it?" he asks, with a quick breath.

Ah, if she had known then, if he had known, even! He had never watched the delicate blooming of a girl's heart and knew not how to translate its throbs. He kisses her in a dazed way, and no kisses were ever so sweet.

"Well," he says, presently, "we will let Cecil go over to Denise in the morning"--he can even put his child away for her--"and keep our own secret."

It is delicious to have a secret with him. She dreams of it all the long evening; he is looking over some proofs with the professor. And she can hardly conceal her joy the next morning; she feels guilty as she looks Gertrude in the face.

The city is very gay this Sat.u.r.day morning. They look in some shop windows, they go to a tempting lunch, and then enter the charming little theatre, already filling up with beautifully dressed women and some such exquisite young girls. She wishes for the first time that she was radiantly beautiful; she does not dream how much of this is attire, well chosen and costly raiment.

She listens through the overture; she is not much moved during the first act. Miss Neilson is pretty and winsome in her quaint dress, with her round, white arms on her nurse's knee, looking up to her eyes; she is respectful to her stately mother, and she cares for her lover. The lights, the many faces about her, the progress of the play interest, but it is when she comes to the balcony scene that Violet is stirred.

The longing, lingering love, the good night said over and over, the lover who cannot make parting seem possible, who turns again and again.

She catches the tenderness in Miss Neilson's eyes; ah, it is divine pa.s.sion now, and she is touched, thrilled, electrified. She leans over a little herself, and her pure, innocent young face, with its dewy eyes and parted, cherry-red lips are a study, a delight. One or two rather ennuied-looking men watch her, and Floyd forgives them. It seems to him he has never seen anything more beautiful. The unconscious, impa.s.sioned face, with its vivid sense of newness, its first thrilling interest, indifferent to all things except the young lovers, steady, strong, tender, sympathetic. Even women smile and then sigh, envying her the rapt delight of thus listening.

When it is over Violet turns her tearful eyes to her husband in mute questioning. This surely cannot be the end, the reward of love? For an instant the man's heart is thrilled with profoundest pain and pity for the hard lesson that she, like all others, must learn. He feels so helpless to answer that trust, that supreme innocence.

Everybody stirs, rises. Violet looks amazed, but he draws her hand through his arm. Several new friends nod and smile, wondering if that is Floyd Grandon's child-wife that he has so imprudently or strangely married? He hurries out a little. He does not want to speak to any one.

In the crush Violet clings closely; he even takes both hands as he sees the startled look in her eyes.

The fresh, crisp air brings her back to her own world and time, but her eyes are still l.u.s.trous, her cheeks have an indescribable, delicious color, and her lips are quivering in their rose red.

"Where shall we go?" he says. "Will you have some fruit or an ice, or something more solid?"

"Oh!" and her long inspiration is almost like a sigh. "I couldn't eat anything--after that! _Did_ they really die? Oh, if _Romeo_ had not come so soon, _quite_ so soon!" and her sweet, piteous voice pierces him.

"My darling, you must not take it so to heart," he entreats.

"But they _were_ happy in that other country. And they went together,"

glancing up with an exquisite hope in her eyes. "It was better than to live separate. Mr. Grandon, _do_ you know what love like that is?"

She asks it in all innocency. She would be very miserable at this moment if she thought she had come to the best love of her life. Her training has been an obedient marriage, a duty of love that is quite possible, that shall come some time hence.

"No," he says, slowly. He really dare not tell her any falsehood. He did not love Cecil's mother this way, and though he may come to love Violet with the highest and purest pa.s.sion, he does not do so now. "No, my dear child, very few people do."

"But they could, they might!" and there is a ring of exultation in her tone.

"Some few might," he admits, almost against his better judgment.

"Why, do you not see that it is all, _all_ there is of real joy, of perfect bliss? There is nothing else that can so thrill the soul."

They surge against a crowd on the corner crossing. He pauses and glances at her. "Shall we go home?" he asks, "or somewhere else? If it is home, we may as well take a car."

"Oh, home!" she answers. So they take the car and there is no more talking, but he watches the face of youth and happy thoughts, and is glad that it is his very own.

The train is crowded as well. An instinctive shyness would forbid her talking much under the eyes of strangers, if good breeding did not. She settles in her corner and thinks the good night over and over, until she again sees Miss Neilson's love-lit, impa.s.sioned countenance.

The sun has dropped down and it is quite cold now. They must go for Cecil.

"Oh," cries Violet, remorsefully, "we forgot Cecil! We never brought her anything! But I have a lovely box of creams at home; only you do not like her to eat so much sweets."

"Give her the creams." and he smiles at her tenderness.

Cecil welcomes them joyfully. She has two lovely little iced cakes baked in patty-pans.

"One is for you, mamma----" Then she suddenly checks herself. "O Denise, we ought to have baked three; we forgot papa!" she says, with childish _naivete_.