If you observe us you will find us in our manners and way of living
most like wasps.--ARISTOPHANES.
She sits on the wide, fragrant porch with her lovely stepdaughter,
watching for the return of her husband and his German friend, with whom
he has no end of business. Certainly Violet makes a most amiable wife.
She finds no fault with the all-engrossing business, even in this
honeymoon month, but contents herself with Cecil and Denise, with rides
and walks, and days spent at the cottage. Denise instructs her in
cookery, but she feels as if she should never need the knowledge, since
Mrs. Grandon _mère_ is at the head of the great house, with servants to
do her bidding.
Violet is musing now over a talk had with Gertrude this afternoon. She
was trying to persuade her to join them for a drive. It seems such a
dreary life to lie here on the sofa when there is the wide, glowing out
of doors.
"Our quiet times will soon come to an end," says Gertrude,
complainingly. "Marcia returns presently, and Laura will no doubt come
back for a visit, but we are rid of her as a permanency," and she
flavors her speech with a bitter little laugh.
"What is Laura like? She is only a year older than I," rejoins Violet.
"But ten years wiser. She has achieved the great aim of a woman's
life,--a rich husband."
Violet colors delicately. _She_ has a rich husband, but it was no aim
of her life.
"What is Marcia like?" she inquires, timidly.
"She will fret you to death in a week, a faded flirt with the air of
sixteen, who sets up for a genius. Get her married if you can. It is
fortunate that there is some dispensation of fate to take people out of
your way."
"I never had a sister," Violet says, half regretfully.
"Well, you will have enough of us," is the rejoinder. "Though I shall
try to make no trouble. A book and a sofa satisfy me."
"Were you always ill? And you must have been pretty! You would be
pretty now if you had some color and clearness, such as exercise would
give you."
Gertrude is comforted by the naive compliment. No one ever praises her
now.
"I was pretty to some one a long while ago," she says, pathetically.
It suggests a lover. "Oh, do tell me!" cries Violet, kneeling by the
sofa. Marriage is marriage, of course, and Denise has instructed her in
its duties, but is not love something accidental, not always happening
in the regular sequence?
"It is not much," confesses Gertrude, "but it once was a great deal to
me. I was engaged, and we loved each other dearly. I was soon to be
married, the very first of them all, but _he_ went wrong and had to go
away in disgrace. It broke my heart!"
"Oh!" and Violet kisses her, with tears on her cheek. No wonder she is
so sad and spiritless.
"I don't mind now. Perhaps it would have been no end of a bother, and
I'm not fond of children. Cecil is the least troublesome of any I ever
saw, but I couldn't have her about all the time, as you do. Yes, it
seemed at first as if I must die," she says, in a curious
past-despairing tone.
"He may come back," suggests Violet.
"Oh, no! And then one couldn't be disgraced, you know! But it was mean
for Laura always to be flaunting her good fortune in my face. I'm glad
she is married, and I only wish Marcia was going off. We could settle
to comfort the rest of our lives."
Violet is thinking of this brief, blurred story, and wondering how it
would seem to love anyone very much beforehand. She has been trained to
believe that love follows duty as an obedient handmaid. She likes Mr.
Grandon very much. He is so good and tender, but of course he loves the
child the best. Violet is not a whit jealous, for she does not know
what love really is in its depth and strength. But it is a mystery, a
sort of forbidden fruit to her, and yet she would like one taste of what
"Some have found so sweet."
The carriage-wheels crumble her revery to fine sand. She is not sure
whether it is proper to come forward, and there are two more in the
carriage, a bright, beautiful woman that she fancies is Madame
Lepelletier.
Mrs. Grandon does not leave her in doubt as she hastens forward with a
really glad exclamation.
"My dear Laura!"
"Wasn't it odd?" says dear Laura. "We really were not meaning to come
up to-day, our hands were so full, but we met Floyd on Broadway, and
here we are."
She steps out, stylish, graceful, with that unmistakable society air
some people never acquire. She is dressed in a soft black and white
checked silk, so fine that it is gray, her chip bonnet is of the same
color, with its wreath of gray flowers, and her gloves are simply
exquisite. All this seems to set off her fine eyes and brilliant
complexion.
Violet catches her husband's eye and joins them, with Cecil by the
hand. Floyd looks her over. He has allowed himself an uneasy misgiving
for the last half-hour, for Violet's dress is usually so
unconventional. But she is in one of her new toilets, a soft, clinging
material, with the least touch of tulle at the throat and wrist, and a
cluster of white roses at her belt; simple, yet refined, with a
delicate grace that savors of Paris.
The introductions follow. There is Prof. Freilgrath, quite different
from their old, round, bald German teacher. He is tall and
martial-looking, with a fine head, and hair on the auburn tint, a
little curling and thin at the edge of the high forehead. His eyes are
light blue, keen, good-humored, and he wears glasses; his nose is
large, his mouth rather wide, but his teeth are perfect. His English
has a very slight accent, and he impresses one with scholarly ways at
once. Arthur Delancy, a very good-looking young man, seems rather
insignificant beside him. Violet experiences a thrill of negative
preference; she is glad it was not her fate to become Mrs. Delancy.
Some one invites them within.
"Oh, no," responds the professor. "Mrs. Grandon knows what is
delightful; let us follow her example and sit here on the porch. You
Americans are indoors quite too much. And I want to see the child, Mr.
Grandon's pretty daughter."
"I must be excused then," declares Laura. "They may entertain you,
Arthur, but I must see mamma and take off my bonnet."
The others seat themselves in the bamboo veranda chairs. Cecil is
seized with a fit of shyness, which proves coaxable, however. Violet
feels compelled, as sole lady, to be entertaining, and acquits herself
so well that in a few moments her husband forgets his recent anxiety
about her.
Laura follows her mother up-stairs.
"What did possess Floyd to make such an utter fool of himself?" she
asks. "When you wrote, I was struck dumb! That little--ninny!"
"You have just hit it. A girl who still plays with dolls, and who
learned nothing in a convent but to count beads and embroider trumpery
lace," says the mother, contemptuously.
"And he might have had Madame Lepelletier! She has been _such_ a
success at Newport, and she will be just the envy of New York this
winter! She is going to take a furnished house,--the Ascotts'. They are
to spend the winter in Paris, and Mrs. Latimer says the house is lovely
as an Eastern dream. I never _can_ forgive him. And he offered her to
Eugene."
"Offered her to Eugene!" repeats the mother.
"Yes. He had hardly reached Lake George when the Grand Seigneur
insisted upon his coming back and espousing Miss St. Vincent,--very
Frenchy, was it not? But Eugene did not mean to be burdened with a dead
weight all his life. We have had enough botherment with that miserable
patent, not to have a beggarly girl thrust upon us!"
Mrs. Grandon is struck dumb now. Eugene has missed a fortune. Why does
everything drop into Floyd's hands?
"I don't know about that," she answers. "It is a wretched choice for
Floyd; she is a mere child compared to him, and she would have done
better for Eugene. The patent is likely to prove a success; in that
case the St. Vincent fortune is not to be despised."
"O mamma, Mr. Wilmarth assured Eugene that Floyd never _could_ get back
the money he was sinking in it. He _must_ know. You do not suppose
Floyd was counting on _that_ chance, do you?"
"I don't know what he was counting on," says the mother, angrily; "only
he seems to take the best of everything."
"But fancy Eugene marrying to order!" and Laura laughs lightly. "I
believe it was a plan of Mr. St. Vincent's in the first place. Well,
the silly little thing is not much to look at! Mamma, do you know this
Prof. Freilgrath is a great German _savant_ and traveller? He and Floyd
have been writing a book together about Egypt or Africa or the Nile.
Mr. Latimer's club is to give him an elegant reception. Mrs. Latimer
met him while they were at Berlin three years ago, when he had just
come from some wonderful explorations. Oh, if Madame Lepelletier were
only here, she would make Floyd one of the lions of the day! What an
awful pity he is tied to that child! And it was so mean of him not to
come to Newport, as he promised! The whole thing is inscrutable!"
"It was a hurried, tangled-up mess! I don't pretend to understand it. I
don't believe he cares for her, but the thing is done," the mother
says, desperately.
"I _was_ curious to see her, and when Floyd asked us so cordially
to come I would have put off everything. We are to go back again
to-morrow, and I am delighted to meet the professor, not that I care
much for the Nile or the ruins of buried cities, unless some rare and
beautiful jewelry comes to light," and she laughs. "My bracelets have
been the envy of half Newport. I wonder---- But I suppose Floyd will
save the rest of his 'trumpery' for her! You have not been deposed, _ma
mère_!"
The set expression in Mrs. Grandon's face indicates that deposing her
would be a rather difficult matter.
Laura meanwhile has washed her face and done her hair. She rummages in
a drawer for some fresh laces she remembers to have left behind, and
makes herself quite elegant. As they go down-stairs Mrs. Grandon slips
the key in the piano, and then makes inquiries concerning the dinner.
The "foolish little thing" in her pretty willow rocker has made herself
entertaining to the German professor, who is not long in finding that
she is quite well read in orthodox German literature, except the poets,
and there her teacher has allowed a wide range. She is yet too young
for it to have touched her soul, but her eyes promise a good deal when
the soul shall be really awakened. And he thinks of the story his
friend has told, of her saving his little girl, and pays her a true,
fervent admiration that puzzles Laura extremely. Violet does not get on
so well with Mr. Delancy, for she knows nothing of society life.
But Laura can "shine her down," and does it speedily. Cecil is sitting
on her papa's knee, and he is very content until he finds presently
that Violet has lapsed into silence. Laura has the talk with both
gentlemen, and is bringing them together in the clever way known to a
society woman. Then they are summoned to dinner. Arthur takes Violet;
the professor, Laura; and here Gertrude makes a sort of diversion and
has the sympathy of both gentlemen.
The evening is very pleasant. Grandon will not have his shy Violet
quite ignored, and yet he feels that she is not able to make much
headway against the assumptions of society. He realizes that his place
will be considerably in the world of letters, and that has come to be a
world of fashion. Wealth and culture are being bridged over by so many
things, artistic, æsthetic, and in a certain degree intellectual, one
has to hold fast to one's footing not to be swept over. If there was
some one to train Violet a little! He cannot understand why the family
will not take to her cordially.
Laura is thinking of this handsome house and the really superior man
at its head, for she has to admit that Floyd has dignity, ability,
character, and if he is coming out as a genius he will be quite the
style. There is one woman who could do the honors perfectly,--madame,--and
she feels as if she could almost wring the life out of the small
nonentity who has usurped her place, for of course Floyd would soon
have cared for madame if she had not come between.
"It was brought about by a silly romance," she tells madame afterward.
"The child had run away from her nurse and was scrambling down some
rocks when she caught her, it seems, and Floyd, coming up just that
moment, insisted she had saved Cecil's life. Very dramatic, wasn't it?
And Cecil is quite idiotic over her. I think she would make an
excellent nursery governess. She is just out of a convent, and has no
manners, really, but is passable as to looks. Mamma insists that her
hair is red, but it is just the color the Ascotts rave over. Mrs.
Ascott would be wild to paint her, so I am glad they will be off to
Paris without seeing her. She is in deep mourning and can't go into
society. I shall make Floyd understand that. But to think of her having
that splendid place in her hands!"
To do Madame Lepelletier justice, she thinks more of the master than of
the place, and hates Violet without seeing her, because she has won
Cecil's love.
In the morning Mr. and Mrs. Delancy are compelled to make their adieus.
Laura goes off with an airiness that would do Marcia credit, and avoids
any special farewell with her new sister-in-law. The professor remains,
and spying out the piano asks leave to open it.
"It is locked, I believe," says Violet, hesitatingly.
Floyd lifts the cover and looks at his wife in astonishment.
"It was locked," she says, defending herself from the incredulous
expression, "the morning after I came here,--and--I thought--the piano
is Laura's," she concludes.
"Did you try it more than once?" he asks.
"Yes." She blushes pitifully, but her honesty will not allow her to
screen herself to him. "You must never let him think a wrong thing
about you," says Denise, in her code of instructions.
It is not at all as she imagines. He is amazed that any member of his
family would do so small a thing as to exclude her from the use of the
piano.
"Well," he says, "you shall have one of your own as soon as Laura can
take hers away."
"Oh!" Her sweet face is suddenly illumined. How delightful it will be
through the long days when papa is away! She can begin to give Cecil
lessons.
"I suppose you are all for Beethoven," the professor is saying. "Young
people find such melody in 'Songs without Words.' But I want you to
listen to this nocturne of Chopin's, though it is not a morning song."
Violet listens entranced. Floyd watches her face, where the soft lights
come and go. If she could always look like that!
But Freilgrath cannot spend the whole morning at the piano. They are to
drive around, to see the place and the factory, to arrange some plans
for work.
"Cannot the pretty mother and child go?" he asks.
"Why, yes," Floyd answers, pleased with the notion.
They stop at the cottage, which the German thinks a charming nook, then
drive on to the factory. Violet and Cecil remain within while the two
men make a tour of inspection. Floyd's spirits have risen many degrees
in the past week. The machinery has worked to a charm, and demonstrated
much that St. Vincent claimed for it. There seems no reasonable doubt
of its success. Rising will be retained, and is empowered to hire any
of the old hands who will come back and obey orders. Several have given
in their allegiance, and some others are halting through a feeling of
indignation at being falsely accused. But the fact is patent now that
all along there has been a traitor or traitors in the camp.
Violet sits there in the carriage talking to Cecil, half wrapped in a
fluffy white shawl. She is just in range of a window, and the man
watching her feels that Floyd Grandon has more than his share of this
world's favors. What has life done for _him_? asks Jasper Wilmarth
with bitter scorn. Given him a crooked, unhandsome body, a lowering
face, with its heavy brows and square, rugged features. No woman has
ever cared for him, no woman would ever worship him, while dozens no
doubt would allow Grandon to ride rough-shod over them if he only
smiled afterward. He has come to hate the man so that if he could
ordain any evil upon him he would gladly.
He has dreamed of being master here, and yet in the beginning it was
not all treachery. Eugene Grandon was taking it rapidly to ruin, and he
raised no hand to stay. From the first he has had a secret hope in St.
Vincent's plans, but there was no one to carry them out. When the elder
son came home the probability was, seeing the dubious state of affairs,
he would wash his hands of the whole matter, and it would go, as many a
man's life work had before, for a mere song. In this collapse he would
take it with doubt and feigned unwillingness, and calling in the best
talent to be had, would do his utmost to make it a success. But all
this had been traversed by the vigilant brain of another.
If that were all! He had also dreamed of the fair girl sitting yonder.
A mere child, trained to respect and belief in her elders, and
obedience of the Old World order, secluded from society, from young
men, her gratitude might be worked upon as well as her father's fears
for her future. Once his wife, he would move heaven and earth for her
love. She should be kept in luxury, surrounded by everything that could
rouse tenderness and delight; she should be the star of his life, and
he would be her very slave. There were instances of Proserpine loving
her dark-browed Pluto, and sharing his world. Wilmarth had brooded over
this until it seemed more than probable,--certain.
And here his antagonist has come with his inexorable "check!" A perfect
stranger, with no hatred in his soul, only set upon by fate to play
strange havoc with another's plans, to circumvent without even knowing
what he did. If the place had to pass into other hands, as well his as
a stranger's, he has reasoned.
He was as well off as if Mr. James Grandon were alive, and he had not
railed at fate then. It was because he had seen possibilities, the
awful temptations of human souls. It is when the weak place is touched
as by a galvanic shock that in the glare of the light we see what might
be done, and yield, fearing that another walking over the same road
will pause and gather the price of some betrayal of honor, while we
look back with envy, the envy of the tempted, not the unassailable.
And because Violet St. Vincent sits there in another man's carriage,
this other man's wife, he feels that he has been defrauded of something
he might have won with the better side of his nature, which will never
be called out now. They will go on prospering; there is no further
reason why he should bend a wire, slip a cog, or delay the hurrying
wheels. Since Grandon has achieved all, then let them make money, money
for which he has little use.
Cecil gets tired, and Violet tells her a story. They are almost to the
end when the gentlemen come, but Cecil is exigeant, and the professor
politely insists. He is fond of even the fag-end of a story, so that it
turns out well; and then he will entertain the little miss. Violet
finishes with blushes that make her more charming every moment; and
Grandon finds a strange stirring in his soul as he watches this pretty
girl. He is glad she is his. Some time, when the cares of life press
less heavily, they two will take a holiday and learn to know each other
better than mere surface friends.
Herr Freilgrath certainly makes an unwonted interest in the great
house. He is so genial, he has that overflowing, tolerant nature
belonging to an ample frame and good digestion, he has inexhaustible
sympathy, and an unfailing love of nature. The two men settle
themselves to work in the tower room, and for hours are left
undisturbed, but the early evenings are devoted to social purposes.
Even Gertrude is compelled to join the circle, and Violet, whose tender
heart is brooding over the lost and slain love, is so glad to see her
roused a little.
Freilgrath discovers one day that Violet is a really admirable German
scholar. There are some translations to make, and she is so glad to be
of service. Cecil objects and pouts a little in her pretty child's
fashion. At this her father speaks sharply, and Violet turns, with the
same look she wore on her face the day of the accident. It is almost as
if she said, "You shall not scold her." Is he losing then the right in
his own child? And yet she looks so seductively daring that he smiles,
softens, and kisses Cecil in a passion of tenderness.
"You will spoil her," he says, in a low tone.
If they could go on this way forever! But one morning brings Marcia,
and the same evening Eugene, who is jaunty, handsome, and with a
careless fascination that seems his most liberal inheritance. It is a
very warm September evening, and Violet has put on one of her pretty
white gowns that has a train, and has a knot of purple pansies at her
throat. The elbow sleeves show her pretty dimpled arm and slender
wrist, and her hair is a little blown about as he comes up the steps
and sees her leaning on the balcony rail. What a pretty vision! Have
they guests at the house?
She knows him from his picture and comes forward. He guesses then who
it is, but certainly Laura has not done her half justice.
"Mrs. Floyd Grandon!" bowing with infinite grace.
She smiles at the odd sound of the name she so seldom hears.
"Yes."
He takes the soft, warm hand in his and is tempted to press it to his
lips, but wisely refrains.
His mother has seen this little tableau from the window and comes out.
Even now, if Violet were Eugene's wife, she could forgive her, quite
forgetting that it is not so much her fault or her election.
The delightful harmony comes to a sudden end. That very evening another
spirit reigns, a something intangible that makes Violet shrink into
silence, and Floyd uneasy. Even Gertrude is less social. Marcia has a
curious faculty of making people uncomfortable, of saying wrong things,
of being obtrusive. She quite takes possession of the professor, and he
hardly knows how to understand her small vanities and delusions, and is
glad when the dainty French clock tolls nine, as that is their hour for
working. Cecil has been remaining up, much against her grandmamma's
wishes, who would have an argument every evening on the subject if she
could. So Violet takes the child by the hand and wishes them good
night, the gentlemen go to their study, Marcia flits away, and Eugene
is left with his mother.
"Upon my word," he says, "I had no idea the St. Vincent was such good
form. Floyd has the lucky card everywhere. Is it really true the patent
is a success and that there are fortunes in it?"
"Eugene," his mother begins, severely, "it would have been much better
for you to have stayed at home instead of wasting time and money as you
have done this summer! The lucky card, as you call it, is only taking
advantage of circumstances, and if you are going to let Floyd rule
everything----"
"Well, what can I help? I had no money to bolster up affairs! Wilmarth
was awfully blue. I didn't suppose anything could be made of the
business, it was in such a muddle. And it couldn't now, mother, if
Floyd had not sunk thousands; I don't see how he expects to get it back
if _we_ have anything."
"You threw away your chance!" She must say this, much as she loves him.
"But how could I know that she was pretty and lady-like, and would not
mortify a man with her blunders? You do not suppose Floyd is really in
love with her?"
"He had the wisdom to marry her," she responds, tartly, loath even now
to hear her praised. "It gives him as much interest in the business
as--well, more than _you_ take."
"I should like to take his money and let him manage it all, since he
has turned into such a splendid hand."
"And what would you do?"
"Why, live on my money." And the young man laughs lightly.
His mother feels at that instant as if her whole life was wasted, her
affection despoiled. Eugene is careless, heartless, and yet she cannot
in a moment change the habit of her motherhood and unlove him. She
feels that he cares very little for their welfare, that for everything
she must depend upon her eldest son, and the dependence is bitter. It
should not be so, and yet she has been curiously jealous of Floyd since
the day Aunt Marcia took him under her wing. He has so much, the rest
will have such a trifle in comparison! Yet she feels sure it would slip
through Eugene's fingers in no time and leave him a poor man again. But
our inclination does not always follow our judgment.