Floyd Grandon's Honor, Amanda Minnie Douglas [you can read anyone .TXT] 📗

or light?"

"Dark, brilliant, with a splendid figure and perfect health."

"I adore dark men," says Miss Murray. "And does he dance?"

"He is an elegant dancer. We are all to go to a German to-morrow evening. Eugene is away now, but will return in the morning."

Miss Murray confesses that she "adores" Germans and rowing and riding. She has a magnificent horse at home. She is not going to school any more, but may consider herself regularly in society.

After all these confidences Violet leaves her to make any change in her attire that she deems desirable, and Miss Murray comes down in a blue silk that is wonderfully becoming. It makes her complexion more infantile, her hair more golden, and her eyes larger. She has a soft, languishing aspect, and really interests Violet, who does not feel so utterly lacking in wisdom as she did with Miss Dayre, for Miss Murray makes girlish little speeches and "adores" generally.

There is an elegant luncheon of fruit and delicacies, and Mrs. Grandon _mere_ presides. Afterward the gentlemen betake themselves to the tower and smoke; Violet and her guest divide between the shady end of the drawing-room and the porch, with its beautiful prospect. When the midday heat begins to abate they have their drive and some trotting on the boulevard. Miss Murray grows quite confidential, not in a weak or silly manner, but with the frank _insouciance_ of youth. She seems so generally bent upon having a good time and being liked, admired. She is simply frank where Miss Dayre was independent. She does everything, rows and rides and plays out-of-door games, even to belonging to an archery club. But needlework is her abhorrence, and with all her restless youth she has a great grace of repose as she sits in the willow veranda chair.

Eugene comes through in a night train,--time is so valuable to him,--and is set down, with all his traps, at the door of the mansion just after the gentlemen have had breakfast and departed. Violet catches a glimpse of him and flies up from the summer-house.

"Oh, you have come!" she cries. "I am so glad."

He takes both hands in his, and if the servants were not about, he would draw down the sweet, blooming face and kiss it. There is an eager light in her eyes, a quiver about the rose-red mouth, a certain abandon that is very fascinating.

"Yes," he replies. "It was an awful bore! No game, nor anything but stupid card-playing. Wished myself home fifty times. How lovely you look!" and his eyes study her so closely that she flushes in a ravishing fashion.

"Are you tired to death? I have so much for you to do. There is a German to-night at Madame Lepelletier's, and we are all going. We have a guest, a young lady."

He gives a whistle, and the delight in his face vanishes more rapidly than it ought.

"A Miss Murray," Violet goes on. "You cannot help liking her: I do."

"Then I shall," he returns, with a meaning laugh.

"When you are rested----" Violet begins.

"Oh, I slept like a top! Nothing _could_ keep me awake but a troubled conscience. When I get the dust of ages washed off and make myself presentable I will hunt you up. Where shall I look? Only--I'd like to have you a little glad for your own sake. You might care that much."

"Why, I _am_ glad, I did miss you," she says, daintily. "We are in the summer-house reading novels."

He unclasps her hands reluctantly. He has been thinking of her day and night when he was not asleep. Madame would be very well satisfied at the completeness with which her rival has dethroned her. His callow passion for her has turned his attention from over-much racing and gaming, and therein was a benefit, but it has also implanted within his breast an intense desire for some woman's admiration, and circumstances have led him to Violet. He has been allowing himself to think that if he _had_ met her while she was free he would have cared. She is so lovely and beguiling, how could he have helped it? And he sees in this Miss Murray's coming an opportunity to be more devoted to her, without exposing her to any unfavorable comments.

Violet wonders how he could get through with his toilet so rapidly when he stands in the doorway of the summer-house, fresh, brilliant, his lithe figure the embodiment of manly grace, his dark eyes bright, imperious, and winning, and his smile captivating. A curious light goes over Miss Murray's face at the introduction. Evidently she is surprised and satisfied.

They drop into a gay little chat. The sun comes round with such intense heat that they are driven up to the shady balcony and the hammocks. Violet is in a new and enchanting mood; she is of their kind to-day, bright with youth and enjoyment. She even surprises herself. She hardly knew there was so much merry audacity in her nature, such a capability of riotous delight.

The gentlemen do not return to lunch.

"I suppose Miss Murray's father is one of the literary sort," says Eugene, afterward. "Nothing of the bluestocking about her, though. Isn't she jolly?"

"I am so glad you like her," Violet answers. "I don't know what Mr. Murray is, only he doesn't seem like a--that kind, you know, but I suppose he must be," she settles in her own mind. "They are very wealthy."

"Birds of a feather," laughs Eugene, adverting to Floyd.

The afternoon is a good deal taken up with dresses; Miss Murray has half a dozen that are simple yet extremely elegant. She finally selects a lace robe made over pale pink silk, and she looks bewitching in it.

Eugene is rather puzzled about Mr. Murray at first, but before dinner is ended he learns that the bent of the man's mind is business. What new project has Floyd on hand? There has been some talk of reopening the quarry; at least Floyd has had offers. Or does he mean to build up the remainder of Grandon Park?

Violet is in a soft white silk, with some remarkable pearls and opals that Floyd has had set for her, and a few magnificent roses. Her color and vivacity have come back to her, and as Floyd watches her, a curious remembrance seems to dawn on him. Has she not been well of late that she has seemed so grave and silent, so pale and sad-eyed? Ever since his return she has appeared changed, but now he has his own little fairy back again. What charm in Miss Murray has worked the transformation? Is it kindred youth and sympathy and pleasure?

Miss Murray and Eugene have been explaining the figures to her, even to the extent of practising them in the library, where they idled away much of the afternoon.

"You will try it with me?" Eugene pleads. "I know I can find a partner for Miss Murray."

"No, you must take Miss Murray; some other time we will--yes, you must," peremptorily. "She is my especial guest. I am her chaperone, you know, and am duty bound to provide her with the best and handsomest partner I can find."

"Do you really think so? Then for the sake of the compliment I must do my best."

She smiles upon him, and the young man is unwillingly persuaded. Miss Murray cannot remain forever, but Violet is a part of the present life, and he does not mean that she shall slip out of his reach. Nothing on his part shall crowd her out.

The rooms are lovely, the night and the music enchanting. Violet's face grows unconsciously wistful as she listens and watches the dancers taking their places. Eugene comes for a word.

"I hate to leave you," he declares. "Are you just going to stand and look on?"

She waves him away to his duty, but other eyes note the reluctance.

"Are you not going to allow Mrs. Grandon to dance?" asks madame, in a soft, half-reproachful tone. "She stands there looking like a Peri at the gate, forbidden to enter youth's paradise."

"She is not forbidden," answers Grandon, quickly, with a nervous sense of marital tyranny which he repudiates now and always.

"She is enough to tempt an anchorite," declares Mr. Murray, gallantly. "I could sigh for the days of past and gone youth. Have you forsworn such gayeties, Grandon? But I need hardly ask a man of your stamp----"

"As we have no advantages of acquiring Germans in deserts," interrupts Floyd, with a smile.

"They are the offshoots of civilization," says Latimer, "the superior accomplishments of the men who stay at home. With your permission, Mr. Grandon, I will induct Mrs. Grandon into the enchanting mystery."

Floyd bows with pleased acquiescence, and conducts Latimer to his wife. Her soft, dark eyes express her delight, and something else that he wonders about but does not understand.

Madame executes a little manoeuvre which brings them to Miss Murray's vicinity. The young girl nods and smiles. She is serenely happy with her partner, the handsomest man in the room, and he has been saying some extremely pretty things to her.

"You little match-maker," whispers Latimer. "For a first attempt it is audacious."

"I have not attempted," and she colors vividly. "How could I know _you_ would offer, or that Miss Murray would accept such an objectionable partner?" she says, archly.

"I suppose I must believe you," slowly, as if he were making an effort, while a mirthful smile gleams in his eye. "But in the place of the stage father, I 'bless you, my children,'" and he raises his brows, indicating the two. "Eugene Grandon's mission in life is to be purely ornamental; he must have been born with an incapacity for doing anything of any real service to the world, and his manifest destiny is to be some rich woman's husband. Now here is an opportunity too good to lose. My advice is to go on as you have begun."

"But I have not begun," she says, a little nervously.

"Then I advise you to begin."

The band strikes up a few bars with a preliminary flourish, and the music vibrates enchantingly on the summer night air. They take their places.

"I shall blunder horribly," Violet insists. "You will soon be ashamed of me."

"We will see. Of course if you are dreadful I shall scold you, and tell your husband in the bargain. He and Mr. Murray ought to take a turn. I have seen men waltz splendidly."

She laughs, then bethinks herself in time to save the undesired blunder, and they float gracefully through the first figure. It is enchanting. The sunny lustre comes back to Violet's eyes, and her cheeks are abloom, her lips part in a half-smile. As she floats down to where Mr. Grandon and Mr. Murray stand, her husband takes in the supple grace, the happy young face, the half-abandon, and feels that it is the right and the power of youth. Has he cut her off from a full participation of its pleasures? More than once he has questioned his kindness of a year agone.

Mr. Murray is watching his daughter with a vague satisfaction,--his little "Polly," as he sometimes calls her, to whom his life is devoted. All day he has talked business with Mr. Grandon, and they have gone deep into the mysteries of trade and manufacturing. He sees himself that the right parties could control vast interests in this matter. When his friend George Haviland returns from