Floyd Grandon's Honor Part 49

"Well," says Eugene, "I'll take care of Violet to-night, though I can't hope to fill your place. But--I say, Floyd, do you mind if she waltzes with me?"

"Not if she cares to," is the answer, in a tone of reluctance that is quite lost upon the younger. He realizes that he has hardly courage for a direct prohibition when Eugene has just begun to show himself brotherly.

Violet is out driving with Cecil. He hurries up to the Latimers'. She has been there and gone, and there is no more time if he catches his train, and not to do it might be to lose immeasurably. But to go without a good-by to her or Cecil, and the old thought, the ghost that haunts every untoward parting, if he should never see them again, unmans him for an instant. What folly! Why, he is growing as fearful as a young lover.

He writes a brief farewell in pencil, and lays it on her table. She shall decide about the party herself, but he longs for a kiss, for one look into her lovely, untroubled eyes.

Violet does not return until luncheon is on the table. Eugene is looking out for her.

"Floyd had to go," he begins. "There was some important business, and he had to make a Baltimore connection, but he scoured the town to find you, and was awfully sorry."

It does not occur to Violet that there is anything unusual in his sudden departure, since it is not the first time he has gone with a very brief announcement. A thrill of satisfaction speeds through her at the thought of his wis.h.i.+ng to find her, and she is truly very sorry that he should miss anything of the slightest consequence to him.

"I ought not have stayed," she says, with tender regret. "But I remembered I had promised to call on Miss Kirkbride, and I wanted to before I met her to-night. Oh----" and she pauses in vague questioning.

"That is all right. Floyd engaged me for your loyal knight and true,"

announces Eugene, in a confident tone, bowing ludicrously low.

Violet laughs, then a faint pink is added to the color in her cheek. It is like her husband's thoughtful ways.

"I am not sure I ought to go. Why, I have never been out without Mr.

Grandon," she says, in alarm.

"Well, he has often been out without you," returns Eugene, with what he considers comforting frankness. "And then--it wouldn't do at all, you see. Mother is away, and there is not a single member of the family to do honor to Marcia, for if you remained at home I should stay to keep you company. And Marcia made a great point of our coming."

She has been pulling off her gloves, and now goes slowly up-stairs.

Cecil has run on before and Jane is busy with her, but she calls eagerly as Violet pa.s.ses through the hall. There lays the note on her table, a fond farewell to her and Cecil, a kiss to each, and regrets that he must go in such haste, but not a word about the party.

"I am all ready first," announces Cecil, coming in, attired in a fresh white dress.

"Yes, my darling. That is from papa," as she stoops and kisses her, "who has had to go away without a bit of good-by."

Cecil questions as to where he is gone, and why he went, and why he did not stay until after luncheon; and Violet explains patiently, recalling past times when the child has been almost inconsolable. She is so solaced by her message that she does not think of any other side.

Still, she is not quite satisfied to go without him to so large a gathering, and brings up half a dozen pretty reasons that Eugene combats and demolishes.

"And there will be dancing," she says.

"It would be stupid if there were not," the young man replies. "Such people as the Latimers and the Mavericks can talk forever, but Marcia hardly keeps up to concert pitch in a long harangue, and Wilmarth is not altogether a society man, though I must say he does uncommonly well as a benedict. And you can waltz, too. Floyd actually bestowed the privilege upon me," and he gives a light, flute-like laugh. Certainly when Eugene Grandon pleases he can bring out many delightful graces.

A little pang goes to her soul. Floyd Grandon has never been exclusive or in any sense jealous. Indeed, he has had such scant cause, but she wishes secretly that he had not been so ready to give away that enjoyment, and resolves that she will not waltz with Eugene.

"Come out and lie in the hammock," he says, after lunch. "It is shady, and there is a lovely breeze; you must take a siesta to look fresh and charming, and do honor to the Grandon name. How odd that there are only us two!" and he gives an amusing smile. "What a marrying off there has been since Floyd came home! Four brides in a year ought to be glory enough for one family."

Eugene should, by right, go over to the factory and answer a pile of letters, but instead, he throws himself on the gra.s.s, with an afghan under his head, and falls fast asleep. Violet drowses in her hammock and dreams away the happy hours. Only a little year ago. It runs through her mind like the lapping of the waves in the river.

They are a little late in reaching Mrs. Wilmarth's. It is an extremely picturesque sight, with seats rustic and bamboo, urns and stands of flowers, and moving figures in soft colors of flowing drapery. Some one is singing, and the sound floats outward to mingle with the summer air.

"Marcia certainly deserves credit," declares Eugene. "She is in her glory. She always did love to manage, and maybe she tries her arts upon Vulcan,--who knows."

"Mr. Wilmarth looks happy," says Violet, with gentle insistence.

"I suppose he is,--happy enough. But the marriage always has been a tremendous mystery to me. I should as soon have thought of the sky falling as Jasper Wilmarth marrying, and that he should take Marcia caps it all. I give it up," declares the young man.

"But Marcia is--I mean she has many nice ways," remarks Violet, as if deprecating harsher criticism.

"Well, for those who like her ways."

"You are not quite----" and Violet pauses.

"Generous or enthusiastic or any of the other womanish adjectives."

Eugene pauses, for Marcia comes to meet them and Mr. Wilmarth stands on the porch.

"Well, you _have_ made your appearance at last!" begins Marcia, with an emphasis rendered more decisive from a remark uttered by her husband a few moments before.

"Yes, but you can be thankful that you have us at all," says Eugene, in a tone of lazy insolence. "We only came as representatives of the great family name whose dignity we are compelled to uphold in the absence of the august head of the house."

Jasper Wilmarth hears this and would like to knock down the young man.

"Where is Floyd?" asks Marcia, sharply.

"Gone to Europe," says Eugene, with charming mendacity.

"Oh," cries Violet, in consternation, "not Europe! It is Baltimore."

And fearing Marcia will be hurt she adds quickly, "It was very important business."

"Well, some one else went or is going to Europe. He was in a panic for fear of missing a connection. And he left loads of regrets, didn't he, Violet?"

"He left all that word with you," replies the young wife, wondering in her secret soul if Floyd really meant her to come and why he did not speak of it in the note.

They are in the hall by this time. Eugene nods coolly to Wilmarth, and Violet speaks with a curious inflection, her thoughts are elsewhere, but Wilmarth's steel-gray eyes remark that without reading the motive.

"Where has your brother gone?" he asks of Eugene. "I was not aware of any urgent business when I saw him this morning."

"I dare say it is his own affairs. Some ruin-hunter is no doubt going to the East, and he wants to send for an old coin or a bit of stone with an inscription, or the missing link," and the young man laughs indolently.

Marcia is going up-stairs with Violet. "I think Floyd might have put off his journey until to-morrow," she says, in an offended tone. "He did not come to the dinner, either. Perhaps he thinks we are _not_ good enough, grand enough. You are quite sure you have not come against his wishes?"

Violet starts at this tirade, and if she had more courage would put on her hat again and walk out of the house.

"I am very sorry," she begins, but some one enters the dressing-room and she goes down presently to be warmly welcomed by several of the guests. Eugene const.i.tutes himself her knight, and she feels very grateful. It is so strange to go in company without her husband; she can roam about the woods or drive her pony carriage and not feel lonely, but it seems quite solitary here, although she has met most of the people.

Eugene takes her arm and escorts her about. They are a charming young couple in their youth and beauty, and more than one person discerns the fitness. The business, too, would be of so much more account to Eugene, and he is in most need of a fortune. Jasper Wilmarth wonders if a time of regret will come to him.

Wafts of music float out on the summer night air. There is some dancing and much promenading. Marcia has a surprise in store, a series of tableaux arranged out of doors, with a pale rose light that renders them extremely effective, and they are warmly applauded. The guests sit at the tables and enjoy creams, ices, and salads: it is the perfection of a garden party. Marcia is in rather aesthetic attire, but it is becoming, and she is brimful of delight, though she wishes Floyd were here to see. She has a misgiving that he does not mean to rate Jasper Wilmarth very highly, and her wifely devotion resents it, for she is devoted. Jasper Wilmarth is both pleased and interested in the puppet he can move hither and thither to his liking, and occasionally to his service. He is gratified to see her party a success, though somewhat annoyed at the defection of his brother-in-law, who so far has not been his guest. He is piqued, too, about the sudden journey, and remembers now that a telegram came for him this morning. There is no business connection in Baltimore that need be made a secret, unless it is some secret of his own.

"There," exclaims Eugene, "a waltz at length! I began to think the ogre had forbidden so improper a proceeding. Now you are to waltz with me."

And he rises, with her hand in his, but Violet keeps her seat.