h an excellent
opportunity for everybody to see and to judge according to individual
preference or favor, and behold there is nothing to see. Mrs. Floyd has
sprained her ankle and is a prisoner in that queer, lonely little
cottage, where her father lived like a hermit. The impression gains
ground that Mr. St. Vincent was something of an adventurer, and that
his connection with the business has been an immense misfortune for the
Grandons; that his daughter is a wild, hoydenish creature, who climbs
rocks and scales fences, and is quite unpresentable in society, though
she may know how to sit still in church.

Floyd Grandon would very much like to escape this dinner, but he
cannot. His position as head of the house, his own house, too, his
coming fame, his prestige as a traveller, make him too important an
object to be able to consult his own wishes. Then there are old
neighbors, who hold out a hand of cordial welcome, who are interested
in his success, and whom he has no disposition to slight.

He takes madame in to dinner, who is regal in velvet and lace. There is
a little whisper about the old love, a suspicion if something that
cannot quite be explained had not happened with the St. Vincent girl,
the "old love" would be on again. There is a delicate impression that
madame was persuaded into her French marriage very much against her
will. She is charming, fascinating, perfection. She distances other
women so far that she even extinguishes jealousy.

It certainly is a delightful dinner party, and Mrs. Grandon is in her
glory. She almost forgives Violet her existence for the opportuneness
of the accident. She is just as much mistress as ever, and to be
important is Mrs. Grandon's great delight. She hates secondary
positions. To be a dowager without the duchess is the great cross of
her life. If Mr. Grandon could have left her wealthy, the sting of his
death would not be half so bitter.

It is late when the guests disperse. Violet has insisted that he shall
not give her an anxious thought, but he is a man, and he does some
incipient envying on her account. Of course to have her up-stairs, an
invalid, would not better the position, but to have her _here_, bright
and well and joyous, full of quaint little charms, and he has never
known how full, how over-brimming she was with all manner of
fascinating devices until the last few days. If his mother could
realize that under this courteous and attentive exterior, the breedi