CHAPTER XII.
If you observe us you will find us in our manners and way of living most like wasps.—Aristophanes.
She sits on the wide, fragrant porch with her lovely stepdaughter, watching for the return of her husband and his German friend, with whom he has no end of business. Certainly Violet makes a most amiable wife. She finds no fault with the all-engrossing business, even in this honeymoon month, but contents herself with Cecil and Denise, with rides and walks, and days spent at the cottage. Denise instructs her in cookery, but she feels as if she should never need the knowledge, since Mrs. Grandon mère is at the head of the great house, with servants to do her bidding.
Violet is musing now over a talk had with Gertrude this afternoon. She was trying to persuade her to join them for a drive. It seems such a dreary life to lie here on the sofa when there is the wide, glowing out of doors.
"Our quiet times will soon come to an end," says Gertrude, complainingly. "Marcia returns presently, and Laura will no doubt come back for a visit, but we are rid of her as a permanency," and she flavors her speech with a bitter little laugh.
"What is Laura like? She is only a year older than I," rejoins Violet.
"But ten years wiser. She has achieved the great aim of a woman's life,—a rich husband."
Violet colors delicately. She has a rich husband, but it was no aim of her life.
"What is Marcia like?" she inquires, timidly.