Floyd Grandon takes his way along to the little eyrie. Down in the garden there is a glimpse of a white gown, and now he need pause for no propriety. Violet starts at the step, turns, and colors, but stands quite still. Denise has been giving her some instructions as to her new position and its duties, but has only succeeded in confusing her, in taking away her friend with whom she felt at ease, and giving her a tie that alarms and perplexes.
She is very pale and her deep eyes are filled with a curious, deprecating light. A broad black ribbon is fastened about her waist, and a knot at her throat. She looks so small, so lovely, that he gathers her in his arms.
"My little darling," he begins, in a voice of infinite tenderness, "I seem to neglect you sadly, but there are so many things."
"Do not mind," she answers, softly. "I am quite used to being alone. I missed Cecil very much, though," and her sweet lip quivers. "Oh, are you quite sure, quite satisfied that I can do my duty toward her? I never had a mother of my own to remember, but I will be very good and kind. I love children, and she is so sweet."
"My little girl, you are a child yourself. As the years go on you and Cecil will be more like sisters, companions; and I hope you will always be friends. I must take you home," he continues, abruptly. "My mother and one sister are there; all the rest are away."
She shivers a little. "Am I to live there?" she asks, timidly. She has been thinking how altogether lovely it would be to have him and Cecil here.
"Why, of course. You belong to me now."
He means it for a touch of pleasant intimacy, but she seems to shrink away. In that old time—the brief year—caresses and attention were continually demanded. This new wife does not even meet him half way, and he feels awkward. He can be fond enough of Cecil, and is never at a loss, but this ground is so new that he is inclined to pick his way carefully, with a feeling that she is not at all like any one he has ever known.
They are walking back to the house, and when Denise comes to greet them she sees that the husband has his arm around his young wife's waist. Her Old World idea is that the wife should respect the husband to a point of wholesome fear. They are certainly doing very well. She feels so proud of this great, grave man, with his broad shoulders, his flowing brown beard, his decisive eye, and general air of command.
"Have you had any dinner or lunch?" Violet says, suddenly, moved with a new sense of care.