Nothing is courtesy unless it be meant friendly and lovingly.--BEN
JONSON.
The world is amazed that Prof. Freilgrath, the _savant_ and explorer,
is to take unto himself an American wife. The betrothal party at
Grandon Park excites much interest, and the few invited guests feel
highly honored. The press has received him and his book with the utmost
cordiality; the young women who read everything are wild over it and
talk glibly, though it is mostly Greek to them, but then he is the new
star and must be admired. Many of them envy Miss Grandon, and well they
may.
Gertrude is dressed in soft gray silk, with an abundance of illusion at
throat and wrists; a knot of delicate pink satin is the only bit of
color, and it lends a sort of tender grace to the thin face, where a
transient flush comes and goes. Her betrothal ring is of exquisite
pearls. There are congratulations, there is a supper that is
perfection. Gertrude is serene, but softened in some strange way, and
yet curiously dignified.
Madame Lepelletier is surprised. She considers any marriage a
short-sighted step for such a man, and she can only think of Gertrude
as a fretful, despondent woman, who will end by being a dead weight
upon her husband. Whatever gave him the fancy? for Gertrude was too
indolent to set about winning any man.
This is Mrs. Floyd Grandon's first appearance in society, and the
guests eye her with a something too well-bred for curiosity. She looks
very petite in her trailing dress of dead silk that imitates crape, but
is much softer. So quiet, so like a wraith, and yet with a fascinating
loveliness in her eyes, in her tender, blossom-like face, in her fresh
young voice. She makes no blunders, she is not awkward, she is not
loud. Cecil is her foil,--Cecil, in lace over infantile blue, with a
knot of streamers on one shoulder in narrow blue satin ribbon and a
blue sash. Floyd is host, of course, so Cecil would be left exclusively
with her pretty mamma, if it was not her own choice. Madame watches
them. How did this girl charm that exclusive and almost obstinate
child? She is indulgent, yet once or twice she checks Cecil, and the
little girl obeys; it is not altogether indulgence.
Violet is extremely interested. There are few very young people;
several of the gentlemen converse with her, and though she is rather
fearful at first, she soon feels at home and likes them better, she
imagines, than the women, with one exception, and that is Mrs. Latimer.
The two have a long talk about Quebec, its queer streets and quaint old
churches, and Mr. Latimer takes her in to dinner, which seems a
dreadful ordeal to her, but he is very kindly and entertaining.
Madame Lepelletier resolves to be first in the field. She asks Mr.
Grandon to appoint a day convenient to himself for bringing Mrs.
Grandon to lunch. She will have Gertrude and the professor, Laura and
her husband, and a few friends. Floyd consults Violet, who glances up
with shy delight: madame sees it with a secret joy. She will charm this
young creature, even if her arts have failed with the husband. She will
manage to obtain a hold and do with it whatever seems best; but now she
begins to have a sullen under-current of hate for the young wife.
Marcia's feelings are not those of intense satisfaction. Why did not
she stay at home and win the professor, for it seems any man whom
Gertrude could please would be easily won? Then she is _not_ ambitious
to be Miss Grandon, the only unmarried daughter of the house. Miss
Marcia sounds so much more youthful. She could almost drag off
Gertrude's betrothal ring in her envy.
Now there is the excitement of another wedding. Gertrude will have no
great fuss of shopping.
"You all talk as if I never had any clothes," she says one day to
Laura. "I shall have one new dark silk, and I shall be married in a
cloth travelling-dress, and that is all. I will not be worried out of
my life with dressmakers."
And she is not. For people past youth, she and the professor manage to
do a great deal of what looks suspiciously like courting over the
register in the drawing-room. They agree excellently upon one point,
heat. They can both be baked and roasted. He wraps her in shawls and
she is happy, content. She reads German rather lamely, and he corrects,
encourages.
"Fraulein," he says, one day, "there is a point, I have smoked always.
Will it annoy thee?"
"No," replies Gertrude, "unless you should smoke bad tobacco."
He throws back his head and laughs at that, showing all his white, even
teeth.
"And when I have to go out I may be absent for days at times, where it
would be inconvenient to take thee?"
"Oh, you know I should be satisfied with whatever you thought best! I
am not a silly young girl to fancy myself neglected. Why, I expect you
to go on with your work and your research and everything."
"Thou art a jewel," he declares, "a sensible woman. I am afraid I
should not be patient with a fool, and jealousy belongs to very young
people."
It is the day before Madame Lepelletier's lunch, and has rained
steadily, though now shows signs of breaking away. Violet is in
Gertrude's room helping her look over some clothes. Marcia and her
mother have quarrelled, and she sits here saying uncomfortable things
to Gertrude, that might be painful if Gertrude were not used to it.
"Gertrude," Violet begins, in her gentle tone that ought to be oil upon
the waters, "what must I wear to-morrow, my pretty train silk?"
Marcia giggles insolently.
"No, dear," answers Gertrude, with a kindliness in her voice. "You must
wear a short walking-dress. You are going to take a journey, and trains
are relegated to carriages. You can indulge in white at the neck and
wrists. In fact, there is no need of your wearing black tulle any more.
And Briggs will get you a bunch of chrysanthemums for your belt."
"You can't expect to rival Madame Lepelletier," says Marcia, in the
tone of one giving valuable advice.
"No, I could never do that," is the quiet response.
"Except on the _one_ great occasion," and there is a half-laugh,
half-sneer.
"When was that?" asks Violet.
"Marcia!" says Gertrude, half rising.
"Why shouldn't she be proud of her victory? Any woman would. All women
are delighted to catch husbands! I dare say Madame Lepelletier would
have enjoyed being Mrs. Floyd Grandon."
"Marcia, do not make such an idiot of yourself!"
A sudden horrible fear rushes over Violet. "You do not mean," she says,
"that Mr. Grandon----" What is it she shall ask? Was there some broken
engagement? They came from Europe together.
"She does not mean anything----" begins Gertrude; but Marcia
interrupts, snappishly,--
"I _do_ mean something, too, if you please, _Miss_ Grandon," with a
bitter emphasis on the Miss. "And I think turn about fair play. She
jilted Floyd and he jilted her, it amounts to just that, and for once
Violet came off best, though I doubt----"
Violet is very white now, and her eyes look like points of clear flame,
not anger. Something has fallen on her with crushing weight, but she
still lives.
Gertrude rises with dignity. "Marcia," she says, in a tone of command,
"this is my room, and you will oblige me by leaving it."
"Oh, how fine we are, Mrs. Professor!" and Marcia gives an exasperating
laugh; but as Gertrude approaches she suddenly slips away and slams the
door behind her.
"My dear child," and Gertrude takes the small figure in her arms,
kissing the cold lips, "do not mind what she has said. Let me tell you
the story. When they were just grown up and really did not know their
own minds, Floyd and Irene Stanwood became engaged. She went to Paris
with her mother and married a French count, and a few years after, when
we were there, Floyd met her without the least bit of sentiment. He
never was anything of a despairing lover. She was very lovely then, but
not nearly so handsome as now. When we heard they were coming home
together from Europe, last summer, we supposed they had made up the old
affair. She had no friends or relatives, and we are third or fourth
cousins, so he brought her here. This was more than a month before he
even saw you, and in that time if he _had_ loved her he would have
asked her to marry him; don't you see?"
She gives a long, quivering breath, but her lips are dry. It is not
simply a thought of marriage.
"And I am sure if she had been very much in love with him, she would
have managed to entangle him. Fascinating women of the world can do
that in so many ways. They are simply good friends. Why," she declares,
smilingly, "suppose I was to make myself miserable because you
translated for the professor, you would think me no end of a dunce! It
is just the same. Marcia has a love for making mischief, but you must
not allow her ever to sow any distrust between you and Floyd. The woman
a man chooses is his _true_ love," says Gertrude, waxing enthusiastic,
"not the one he may have fancied or dreamed over long before. Now, you
will not worry about this? Get the roses back to your cheeks, for there
come Floyd and Eugene, and we must dress for dinner."
Gertrude kisses her fondly. She never imagined she could love any woman
as well. Violet goes to arrange her hair, and while she is at it Floyd
comes up with a cheery word. But she feels in a maze. Why should she
care? Does she _care_? Floyd Grandon chose her when he might have had
this fascinating society woman. How much was there in the old love?
He is rather preoccupied with business, and does not remark a little
tremor in her voice. She rubs her cheeks with the soft Turkish towel
until they feel warm, and goes down with him and chattering Cecil.
Marcia is snappy. She and Eugene dispute about some trifle, and Floyd
speaks to her in a very peremptory manner that startles Violet. He does
so hate this little bickering!
Floyd is extremely interested in his wife's appearance the next
morning, and regrets that she cannot wear the train; he selects her
flowers, and looks that she is wrapped good and warm. How very kind he
is! Will she dare believe this is love?
"Do you not look a little pale?" he asks, solicitously.
She is bright enough then and smiles bewitchingly.
When they go up in the dressing-room at madame's, Violet finds Mrs.
Latimer, and she is glad to her heart's depth.
"Oh, you dainty little child!" the lady cries. "You look French with
your chrysanthemums. What elegant ones they are! I want you to come and
spend a whole day with me; we are sort of relatives you know," with a
bright smile, "and you will not mind coming to me; then at eight we
will give Gertrude and the professor a dinner. Has she not improved by
being in love? She used to be quite a beauty, I believe, but the
Grandons are all fine looking. I do admire Mr. Floyd Grandon so much."
Violet's face is in a soft glow of hazy pink, and her eyes are
luminous.
"Oh," Mrs. Latimer says, just under her breath, "you are one of the
old-fashioned girls, who is not ashamed of being in love with her
husband. Well, I don't wonder. And you must have had some rare charm to
win him against such great odds. If you knew the world well, you would
have to admit that women like madame only blossom now and then, and
are--shall we call them the century plants of the fashionable
world?"--and she smiles--"not that they have to be a hundred years old
to bloom; indeed, they seem never to grow old. I like to watch her, she
is so elegant and fascinating."
She comes up just then and crosses over to Violet, having stopped for a
little chat with Mr. Grandon in the hall. Violet is unexceptionable,
though it seems inharmonious to see such a bright young creature in
mourning; but the fashionable and the literary world will open its
doors to Mrs. Grandon, and madame has the wisdom to be first. She is
not much given to caressing ways, but she kisses Violet, and is struck
by a peculiar circumstance,--Violet does not kiss her back. She liked
this beautiful woman so very much before, and now she feels as if she
never wanted to see her. She is absolutely sorry that she has come, for
after one has partaken of hospitality the fine line is passed.
Mrs. Latimer is very curiously interested in this young wife. She has
listened to Laura's strictures and bewailing, for Laura has gone down
to madame body and soul, but when the professor said, "Mrs. Grandon is
such an excellent German scholar, Mrs. Grandon is the most charming
little wife," and when she met her at the betrothal she resolved to
know her better, and finds her a fresh, sweet, innocent girl. Probably
she did appeal strongly to Floyd Grandon's chivalrous instincts when
she saved his child's life, but she is worth loving for herself alone.
Mr. Latimer takes Violet in, and she is very glad not to fall to the
lot of some stranger. Madame and Mr. Grandon are at opposite ends of
the table. It is a perfect lunch, with good breeding and serving, that
is really a fine art. Violet _does_ enjoy it. Mr. Latimer knows just
how to entertain her, and he entertains her for his own pleasure as
well. He likes to see her wondering eyes open in their sweet, fearless
purity; he watches the loveliest of color as it ripples over her face,
the dimples that seem to play hide-and-seek, and the rare glint of her
waving hair as it catches the light in its dun gold reflexes.
"I know two people who would rave over you," he says, in a very low
tone, just for her ear, "Mr. and Mrs. Dick Ascott. This was their
house, you know, and they could not have paid Madame Lepelletier a
higher compliment than renting to her,--it is the apple of their eye,
the chosen of their heart! They are both artists and _we_ think
charming people, but Dick was resolved his wife should have some
Parisian art culture. They are to be back in two years, and I hope you
will not change in the slightest particular. I command you to remain
just as you are."
"Two years," she repeats, with a dreamy smile that is entrancing, and
presently glances up with such a sweet, shy look, that John Latimer,
not often moved by women's smiles, rather suspecting wiles, feels
tempted to kiss her on the spot.
"I hope," she says afterwards, with the most delicious seriousness,
"that I shall not disappoint any one two years from this time."
"Don't you dare to," he replies, warningly.
Gertrude and the professor are really the stars of this morning's
luncheon, and they are having such an engrossing conversation on the
other side of the table that no one but Marcia remarks this little
episode. Everything to her savors of flirtation. Marcia Grandon could
not entertain a simple, honest regard for any one; she is always
studying effects, and she is hungry for admiration. All the small
artifices she uses she suspects in every one else, and now in her
secret heart she accuses Mrs. Floyd of flying at high game.
Take it altogether, it is a decidedly charming little party. Mrs.
Vandervoort, though not a handsome woman, is at the very height of
fashion, and is particularly well-bred, as the Delancys are not modern
people, but have the blue blood of some centuries without much
admixture; there are a few others: madame makes her parties so select
that it is a favor to be invited to one.
She seeks out Violet just as they are beginning to disperse.
"My dear Mrs. Grandon," she says, in that persuasive voice that wins
even against the will, "I have been planning a pleasure for you with
Mr. Grandon. You are to come down here for a day and a night next week,
and we are to go to the opera; it is to be 'Lohengrin,' and you will be
delighted. You are quite a German student, I hear. Now I am going to
make arrangements with the professor and Gertrude."
She smiles superbly and floats over to Gertrude. Violet turns a little
cold; to come here for a day, to remain all night--
"Do you know," says Mrs. Latimer, when she is seated in her sister's
carriage,--Mr. Latimer is to walk down town,--"I think that little Mrs.
Grandon charming. She is coming to me on Tuesday, and we are to give a
kind of family dinner to Gertrude. Laura's vexation made her rather
unjust, and Mrs. Grandon's hair is magnificent, not really red, at all,
and her manners are simply quaint and delicate. She doesn't need any
training; it would be rubbing the bloom off the peach. I just wish
Winnie Ascott could see her!"
"You and John and the Ascotts have rather a weakness for bread-and-milk
flavoring. She _is_ very nice, certainly, and quite presentable, but
one can never predict how these innocent _ingenues_ will develop. They
are very delightful at eighteen, but at eight-and-twenty one sometimes
wants to strangle them, as you do Marcia Grandon."
"Marcia is certainly not the black sheep of the family, for she hasn't
the vim and color for absolute wickedness, but a sort of burr that
pricks and _sticks_ where you least desire it. Now, Laura will make an
extremely stylish woman of fashion, and tall, fair Gertrude, with her
languors and invalidisms, will be picturesque, but an old maid like
Marcia Grandon would be simply intolerable! Let us join hands and get
her married."
"And I dare say Marcia was one of the sweet innocents," Mrs.
Vandervoort remarks, dryly.
"Never, Helen, never! Why, there is a little tint of scandal that she
was having a desperate escapade with a married man when her mother took
her abroad. No, the two are as far apart as the poles. It is really
unjust for you to suppose a resemblance."
"I did not _quite_ infer a resemblance, but I doubt if Mrs. Floyd
_can_ keep pace with her husband, and there are so many silly moths
to flutter about such a man. Mrs. Grandon may turn jealous and sulky,
or become indifferent and leave him to other people's entertainment and
fascinations, and that Madame Lepelletier would never do. They would
make such a splendid couple! Like Laura, I regret the wrecked
opportunity. They seem made for each other. He no doubt married Miss
St. Vincent in the flush of some chivalrous feeling, but she will
always be too childish to understand such a man. There will remain just
so many years between them."
"And _I_ think she will grow up to a perfect wifehood. She is not yet
eighteen."
"And I cannot understand how a man having a chance to win Madame
Lepelletier would not urge it to the uttermost."
Mrs. Latimer is set down at her own door, but keeps her confident faith
as she talks matters over with John.
"Floyd Grandon is about the one level-headed man out of a thousand," he
says, decisively. "Whether it is that he cannot be fascinated with
womenkind or holds some resentment concerning the past, I am not sure,
but he is able to sun himself in the dazzle of Madame Lepelletier's
charms with the most perfect friendly indifference that I ever saw. If
he were not, she might prove dangerous to the peace of mind of the
young wife, who is simply delightful, but who doesn't know any more
about love than the sweetest rosebud in the garden."
"O John! now your penetration is at fault," laughs the wife; "she
unconsciously adores her husband."
"Well, I said she didn't _know_ about it, and she does not. The
awakening will have to come."
Violet meanwhile begins to anticipate the day at Mrs. Latimer's as much
as she dreads that at madame's. Cecil is surprised, indignant.
"You don't stay with me now," she says, her voice and her small body
swelling with emotion. "You let Jane put me to bed, and you don't tell
me any stories."
"But after Aunt Gertrude is married we shall stay at home, and there
will be stories and stories. And you _might_ like to go to Denise," she
suggests, with admirable art. "Briggs could drive you in the pony
carriage."
The temptation is too great. She has winked rather hard to make tears
come, and now she ungratefully winks them away again and dances for
joy.
It is almost noon when they reach the Latimers'. Their house is about
as large as madame's, but it has a greater air of carelessness, of
disorder in its most charming estate. John Latimer lives all over it,
and there are books and papers everywhere, and _bric-à-brac_ in all the
corners. The redwood mantel in the sitting-room is shelved nearly up to
the ceiling, and tiled around the grate, and is just one picture of
beauty. The easy-chairs are around the fire, and softest rugs are laid
for your feet. Violet sits down in the glow and feels at home, smiles,
blossoms, and surprises herself at her gift of adaptiveness.
The lunch is simple and informal; the men retire to Mr. Latimer's den
to smoke and take counsel. Floyd discusses his literary plans and
receives much encouragement. There are three small children in the
nursery, and thither the ladies find their way. Violet charms them all;
even the baby stretches out his hands to come to her. They talk of
Cecil, and Mrs. Latimer, by some magic known to herself, draws out of
Violet a deliciously naive confession of that romantic episode when she
first saw Mr. Grandon.
"Cecil is so rarely beautiful," she says, with the most perfect
admiration. "She might not have been killed,--I really do not think she
would have been,--but I can understand how terribly Mr. Grandon would
hate to have her marred or disfigured in any way. She has the most
perfect complexion, and no sun or wind seems to injure it. And you
cannot think what an apt pupil she is in music; she plays some
exercises very cunningly already, and she is learning French
sentences."
Violet's face is a study of delight, of unselfish affection. Mrs.
Latimer bends over and kisses her, and Violet clasps her arms about the
other's neck.
"You play," she says, presently. "Do you sing any? Come down and try my
piano; it is a new upright, and very fine tone."
"I do not sing many of the pretty new songs," says Violet, modestly,
"nor Italian. My music and my German teacher was the same person and a
German. He liked the old Latin hymns."
She plays without any special entreaty, and plays more than simply
well, with taste, feeling, and correctness. You can see that she loves
the really fine and impassioned in music, that show and dash have had
no place in her training. She sings very sweetly with a mezzo-soprano
voice that is clear and tender.
"You need never be afraid to play or sing," is Mrs. Latimer's quiet
verdict; and though Violet does not specially regard the commendation
now, it is afterward of great comfort.
"You are going to the opera on Thursday night," she begins, suddenly,
for it has just entered her mind. "What have you ever heard?"
"Nothing," answers Violet, simply. "Mr. Grandon took me to see 'Romeo
and Juliet.'" And she gives a little sigh to the sweet, sad memory.
"And the opera is 'Lohengrin'! I think we must go, I should so like to
see _you_. I will ask Mr. Latimer to get tickets, and we must be
together."
"Oh, if you only will!" Violet is in eager delight now.
"To be sure I will. Mr. Latimer will settle it before you go. Let us
make a call upon them; they must have smoked themselves blue by this
time."
They have smoked the sanctum very blue, and are full of apologies. Mr.
Latimer dumps the contents of two chairs on the floor, and the opera
matter is soon settled. Violet is extremely happy over it.
"Do you realize how late it is?" exclaims Mrs. Latimer, presently.
"Gertrude is coming in for a little visit before the play begins."
She arrives just then, and the professor joins the masculine circle
with great zest. The three women have a cosey time until Mrs. Latimer
has to leave them to give some small attention to her dinner, which
proves very enjoyable. There can be no compliments to Gertrude
afterward, and the time is drawing near.
"John," Mrs. Latimer says afterward, "I have solved the problem. I know
just where the secret charm of Miss St. Vincent came to light, and won
against all the beauty and advantages of her rival."
"Well?" he gives a lazy, inquiring laugh, "I dare say you have made
five chapters of discoveries."
"It was the child. Why, Mrs. Grandon had the whole nursery in her arms
in five minutes, and she never made a bit of fuss! Even baby went to
her. That little Miss Cecil adores her. But you couldn't imagine Madame
Lepelletier really fond of children. She speaks to them in a lovely
manner, but I think they must miss the true heart in it. He chose
wisely, since he had to give his child a mother."
"He is a capital good fellow," says John Latimer, "Few men would
undertake the family bother he has."