"I——"
"My dear girl—Tell her, Denise, that she is quite an heiress, and that if all goes well she will one day be very rich. It is your father's gift to you, Violet, not mine."
The troublesome scarlet dies away. She comes to him and takes his hand in her soft palms. "I would be willing to owe anything to you," she says, "but——"
"I owe you the greatest of all; a debt I never can repay, remember that, always." And drawing her to him he kisses her gently. "And now I have about fifteen minutes to spare; try on some of this white gear and let me see how you look."
She puts on the white and purple. It has a demi-train, and seems fashioned exactly for her figure. He is awaiting her in her father's room and looks her over with a critical eye. She is very pretty. She can stand comparison now with madame or Laura or any of them. She knows he is quite satisfied with her.
"Now," he continues, "Denise must pack them up again and I will send them down home. After a week or so there will be visitors. Some day you will find yourself Mrs. Grandon. I do not believe you at all realize it yet."
She colors vividly. In the great house she is seldom honored by any name. Even the servants are not quite determined what respect shall be paid her.
Grandon kisses them both and is off. What a pretty, dainty pride the girl has! Yet yesterday he sent the check without a thought of demur, though Madame Vauban has made the trousseau as costly as circumstances and her own reputation will permit. If she is never the heiress he hopes she will be, he must be more than thankful then that she is wife instead of ward.
Violet spends nearly all the morning arraying herself, to Cecil's intense delight. Denise looks on with glistening eyes. She is as anxious as Grandon that her young mistress shall hold up her head with the best of them.
"But you have a prince for a husband, ma'm'selle," she says.