sigh. Is there something more, and does he
long for it?

CHAPTER XXII.

"Love and hay are thick sown, but come up full of thistles."

Mrs. Floyd Grandon is considered fairly in society, and the world
decides there is nothing detrimental about her. She is admitted to be
pretty, she is well-bred, with some little touches of formalism, due to
her training, that are really refreshing to elderly people, and sit
quaintly upon her. She is charming, both when her natural vivacity
crops out, that has been so repressed, and when she is shyly diffident.
Cards and invitations are left for her, and Grandon Park blossoms out
into unwonted gayety. The people who go away find no difficulty in
renting their houses to those who want to come; perhaps the Latimers
have given the impetus, for Mrs. Latimer is one of those women who are
always quoted, without having any special desire to achieve a society
reputation. The cottage frequently has some visitors of note: its
smallness renders large companies impossible.

There is the usual lawn tennis, and croquet, which is rather falling
into desuetude, but still affords unequalled opportunities for
flirtation. There is boating, and the river looks quite gay with boats
with striped and colored awnings to protect the fair ones from the sun.
Grandon and Latimer are famous oarsmen, and often gather an admiring
audience which gets greatly excited over the victorious champion,
though honors keep evenly divided. Then there are garden parties and
musical evenings, so there is no lack of amusement.

Violet has become quite an expert driver, and she and her pretty
step-daughter, who keep up their adoration of each other, make a lovely
picture in the basket phaeton. She rides on horseback very well, and
here Eugene is always at her service. In fact, though he never _quite_
confesses it, he lets her fancy that he is an unfortunate moth who has
been drawn into the flame when he would not have flown of his own
account and desire. He is the kind of masculine who must always be dear
to _some_ woman, who floats on the strongest current of fascination or
sympathy. It has been the former, it is now the latter. The many frank
allurements of youth in Violet charm him insensibly. She has a secret
sympathy and a curious misgiving that she cannot overcome,--it grows
upon her, indeed,--that Madame Lepelletier is dangerous to man and
woman.

Had madame more personal vanity in her conquests, she might feel