turns Violet, with a sudden flush. He is fond of
her now, she is quite sure. She can remember so many deliciously sweet
moments that she could tell to no one, and her heart beats with quick
bounds.

Gertrude knows more of the world and is silent. What if some day Floyd
should become suddenly blinded by madame's fascinations? It is always
so in novels.

Somewhere about mid-afternoon there is a breezy voice in the house, and
a step comes up the stair which is not Grandon's. A light tap, and the
partly open door is pushed wider.

"Mr. Grandon allows me the privilege of making a call of condolence,"
the professor says, with his cheery smile, that wrinkles his face in
good-humored lines. "My dear Mrs. Grandon, did you really forget you
had no wings when you attempted to fly? Accept my sympathies, my very
warmest, for I was once laid up in the same way, without the excuse of
the stairs. Ah, Miss Grandon," and he holds out his hand to her, "have
you given up the pleasure at the park?"

"I wouldn't let her give up the reception," interrupts Violet. "No one
is to give it up for me," and she remembers suddenly that no one has
offered.

"I should be a great deal happier and better pleased to remain here,"
responds Gertrude, "but Laura would be vexed. After all, it is a good
deal to her and madame. Mrs. Floyd Grandon will take her turn next
year, when she arrives at legal age. She is yet a mere child."

"It is so, _mignonne_, and you could not dance with a lame foot."

"You are going?" Violet says.

"Yes, I hurried back. Mrs. Delancy was so kind as to send a note. And I
had a desire to see my friend's house on this occasion. But why were
you not moved?" and he turns his questioning eyes on Violet.

"The doctor forbade it," answers Violet. "And I want to get thoroughly
well, so I obey."

"That is good, that is good," replies the professor, in a tone of the
utmost commendation.

They have a most agreeable chat until Mr. Grandon comes in, when Denise
sends up some tea and wafer biscuits that would tempt an anchorite. The
carriage is at the door for Gertrude, and an urgent note for Floyd, who
has been deep in business all the afternoon, making up Eugene's
shortcomings.

"You must go," Violet says, but it is half questioningly.

"Yes. Gertrude, I shall be very glad to have you keep me in
countenance. We will discourse cynically upon the follies of the day
and young people in general."

"No," Violet says, with pretty p