Floyd Grandon's Honor Part 50

"Why is waltzing considered improper?" she asks, slowly.

"Upon my life I don't know, unless, like the woman, you have to draw the line somewhere, and it is drawn at your relations or your husband.

I have it--bright thought--it is to give _them_ some especial privileges that will rouse the envy of the rest of the world. For myself I think it a humbug. There are other dances quite as reprehensible when you come to that, but I've never come to harm in any," and he laughs. "And as for flirting, there are devices many and various; when you reach that point, Madame Lepelletier can do more with her eyes than any dozen girls I know could with their feet. Come."

"I think--I do not feel like it," replies Violet.

"Oh, don't wear the willow!" advises the young man. "You have just been up in one quadrille, and people will notice it. Besides, I was very particular to respect any lingering prejudice my august brother might have had."

"And he said you were to waltz with me?"

"Oh," he rejoins, in a kind of hurt tone, "you really do not suppose I would tell you a falsehood in this matter! I really do want to waltz with you, but I shouldn't descend to any such smallness as that."

She is touched by his air and disappointment.

"Well," she answers, reluctantly.

Just then madame floats by them. Violet rises, and they go gracefully down in the widening circles. Eugene waltzes to perfection. A few young girls look on with envious eyes, and something about Lucia Brade's face appeals to Violet. She _does_ carry her heart on her sleeve, and has always been fond of Eugene Grandon.

"Let us stop," entreats Violet.

"Why, we were just going so perfectly! It was like a dream. How beautifully you do waltz! What is the matter?"

All this is uttered in a breath.

"I want you to go waltz with Miss Brade," says Violet. "She looks so lonely talking to that old Mr. Carpenter."

"Nonsense." And he tries to swing her into line.

"No; I do not feel as if I had any business with the young men," says Violet, rather promptly, standing her ground with resolution.

"See here," exclaims Eugene, suddenly, "if I waltz with her, will you give me another somewhere? If you won't, I shall not dance another step to-night," and he shakes his black curls defiantly.

That means he will keep close to her as a shadow, and she wishes he would not.

"Yes," she answers, "if you will do your duty you shall be rewarded."

"Be good and you will be happy," he quotes.

"Take _me_ over to Mr. Carpenter."

"He will prose you to death. See, there is Mrs. Carpenter waltzing with Fred Kirkbride. That is the way young and pretty second wives enjoy themselves," says this candid young man.

Lucia Brade goes off supremely happy. Violet watches them from her rustic seat. She has been a little amazed at Lucia's evident preference, so plainly shown. Mr. Carpenter only needs a listener to render him supremely happy in his monologues, so Violet can follow her own thoughts.

She is wondering why she feels so lost and lonely in this bright scene, and why the waltz did not enchant her! Where is Mr. Grandon--drowsing in a railway car? If he were here! The very thought thrills her. Yes, it _is_ her husband she misses,--not quite as she used to miss him, either. He has grown so much more to her, he fills all the s.p.a.ces of her life. He may be absent bodily, but he is in her soul, he has possession of her very being. Is this love?

A strange thrill runs over her. The lights, the dancing, the talk beside her, might all be leagues away. She is penetrated, possessed by a blissful knowledge, something deeper, finer, keener than she has ever dreamed, not simply the reverence and obedience of the marriage vow that she has supposed included all. And then comes another searching question,--how much of just this kind of love has Floyd Grandon for her?

The waltz has ended, and the lanciers begun. She will not dance that, but sends Eugene in quest of another partner, at which he grumbles. The Latimers are not here,--a sick baby has prevented,--though now Violet begins to feel quite at home with many of the dwellers in the park and about. Even madame searches her out presently.

"My dear child," she says, in that soft, suave tone, "are you not well this evening? You are such a little recluse."

"Quite well." And the brilliant face answers for her.

"Then you are not enjoying yourself. You young people ought to be up in every set."

"I did dance. But I like to look on. The figures are so graceful, and the music is bewitching."

"It seems unnatural for one of your age to be merely a spectator. How lovely Eugene and Mrs. Carpenter look together! She is just about your size and dances with the _verve_ of youth, which I admire extremely.

Gravity at that age always seems far-fetched, put on as a sort of garment to hide something not quite frank or open, but it never can conceal the fact that it covers thoughts foreign to youth."

Violet wonders if she has been unduly grave this evening. She _has_ something to conceal, a sweet, sacred secret that only one person may inquire into. Will he, some day? He has never yet asked her the lover's question to which it would be so sweet to reply.

"There," exclaims Eugene, sitting down beside her, "I have done my duty. The very next waltz, remember."

The last is in a whisper, and it brings the bright color to her face, brighter because madame's eyes are upon her; but fortunately for her peace, madame is wanted.

"Do you know," says Eugene, "I am very glad you married Floyd, for I _do_ think it would have ended by his taking her; not that he cared particularly, and the queer thing was that Cecil would not make friends with her; but she is the kind of woman who generally gets everything she tries for. And I do believe she envies you your home and your husband."

"Oh!" cries Violet, much abashed, "do not say so. It seems to me there is nothing that she can envy or desire."

"Don't believe the half of that, little innocent! Oh, listen, this measure is perfection! Come."

She rises, for she cannot endure sitting here and discussing madame, and they all take so much for granted between her and Mr. Grandon.

The waltz is lovely out here in the summer moonlight. She forgets her discomfort in it, and is very happy; but when it ends she feels that her duty is done, that she would like to go home, and mentions her desire to Eugene.

"Why, yes, if you like," he answers. "If it had not been for you the whole thing would have bored me intolerably. Floyd may thank his stars for an excuse to keep away."

They make their adieus to host and hostess. Marcia tosses her head with a curt farewell.

But it has been a success. Doubtless many of the guests came from curiosity; but Mrs. Wilmarth is delighted to have had what would have been an enormous crush inside, and much elated to have it praised on every hand.

"But what idiots Violet and Eugene made of themselves," she says, in the privacy of her own room, when all is quiet and the old orchard is left to the weird dancing shadows of the moonlight, while the insect voices of the night keep up an accompaniment.

"Did they? I thought he was unusually modest and chary of his numerous graces," returns Jasper Wilmarth, with his usual sneer, which is nearly always lost upon Marcia, who has settled it as belonging to his way and not meaning anything.

"That is just what I complain of. They walked round or sat under trees like a couple of spooning lovers. I believe they did waltz once; and Violet did nothing but dance the night of her ball."

"I wonder," Jasper Wilmarth says, slowly, "if Eugene does not, or will not regret giving up the St. Vincent fortune."

"Giving up the fortune!" Marcia turns straight around, with a resemblance to Medusa, since her short, uneven hair stands out every way with the vigorous use of her magnetic brush. "How could he have had the St. Vincent fortune?"

Wilmarth is surprised. Is it possible that Marcia does not know? Have these two men kept the secret from the family?

"Why of course you are aware that it was offered to Eugene!" he answers, composedly.

"No, I am not," she replies, shortly. "Was it to marry Violet?"