new wife,
if it does not cost her too much exertion.

"What a lovely house!" and Violet draws a long, satisfied breath. "And
the river is so near."

"You must never go without Jane," annotates Cecil; "must she, papa?"

They all smile at this. "I should not like to have her lost," says
papa, gravely.

"Do you ever go out rowing or sailing?"

"I never do," and Gertrude shudders. "I cannot bear the heat of the sun
or the chill of evening. But we have boats."

"And I am a crack oarsman," says Grandon. "I shall practise up for a
match."

They begin to ramble about presently. It really is better than if Mrs.
Grandon was at home. Out on the wide porches, through the library, up
the tower, and Violet is in ecstasies with the view. Then they come
down through the chambers, and the young wife feels as if she had been
inspecting a palace. How very rich Mr. Grandon must be! If papa had
lived he might have made the fortune he used to study over.

Violet is quite bright and flushed when the dinner-bell rings, and is
introduced to her husband's mother at the head of the elegantly
appointed table. She is in rich black silk, with crape folds, and very
handsome jet ornaments, and Violet shrinks into herself as the sharp
eyes glance her over. Why should they be so unfriendly? All
conversation languishes, as Cecil is trained not to talk at the table.

Violet returns to the drawing-room and walks wistfully about the grand
piano. Floyd opens it for her and begs her to amuse herself whenever
she feels so inclined. "Is he quite certain no one will be annoyed?"
"Quite." Then she seats herself. She has had no piano at the eyrie.
This is delicious. She runs her fingers lightly over the keys and
evokes the softest magic music, the sweetest, saddest strains. They
stir Floyd's very soul as he sits with Cecil on his knee, who is
large-eyed and wondering.

Mrs. Grandon saunters in presently. "How close it is," she exclaims,
"and I have such an excruciating headache!"

"Ah," says Violet, sympathetically. "I had better not continue playing,
it might distress you."

"Oh, no, you need not mind." The tone is that of a martyr, and Violet
stops with a last tender strain. Floyd Grandon is so angry that he dare
not trust his voice to speak. Violet stands for a moment undecided,
then he stretches out his hand, and she is so glad of the warm clasp in
that great lonely room.

"Let us go out to walk. It is not quite dark yet. Cecil, ask Jane to
b