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 passion, 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, impassioned 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_.

"Well, mamma will divide hers with me."

A curious feeling runs over him. The child and the father have
forgotten each other an instant, but the child and the mother
remembered.

It is dark when they reach home. The spacious hall is all aglow with
light and warmth. In the parlor sits the professor, and Cecil, catching
a sight of his beaming face, runs to him.

Gertrude comes out, and putting her arms around Violet's neck, kisses
her with so unusual a fervor that Violet stares.

"I have something to tell you after dinner. You shall be the first. Oh,
what a cold little face, but sweet as a rose! There is the bell."

They hurry off and soon m