Afterward, going down the street, Floyd remembers with a twinge of shame that Violet has not once been mentioned. It was his remissness, of course. He could not expect madame to discuss his marriage as one of the ordinary events of life, but he wishes now that he had taken the honorable step. If he only understood the turns and tricks of fashionable life. He has been in wilds and deserts so long, that he has a curious nervous dread of blunders or those inopportune explanations he has occasionally witnessed.
CHAPTER XIV.
To be wise is the first part of happiness.—Antigone.
They are excellently served and complete order reigns at the great house, yet Mrs. Grandon is missed, in ways not altogether complimentary if one put it into words. Marcia delights in playing at mistress. She asks in some of her neighbors to dinner, but Violet, excusing herself, goes over to the cottage. Floyd is not at home to be consulted, and she does not wish to blunder or to annoy him. She wins Marcia's favor to a certain extent, but her favor is the most unreliable gift of the gods. She has no mind of her own, but is continually picking up ready-made characteristics of her neighbors and trying them on as one would a bonnet, and with about the same success. While the rest of her small world is painfully aware of her inconsistency, she prides herself upon a wide range of mental acquirements. She generously allows Violet to try driving Dolly, who is as gentle as a lamb.
Violet draws some delicious breaths, when she feels quite like a bird, but she does not know that it is freedom. She hardly misses Mr. Grandon, who seems to be up at the factory or down to the city nearly all the time. The piano stands open, daring innovation, and she plays for hours, to Cecil's entrancement, and inducts her in the steps of a fascinating little dance. Cecil is growing quite wild and wilful at times, but she is always charming.
They all go up to the cottage one day to a lunch of Denise's preparing. While Gertrude rests, Marcia insists upon visiting the place where Cecil was rescued.
"You dear, brave child!" she cries, kissing Violet with rapture, "I don't wonder Floyd fell in love with you on the spot! If you could only pose just that way to me, and I could paint it! What a picture it would be for exhibition!"
Violet flushes warmly, but by this time she shares the family distrust of Marcia's splendid endeavors.
"Oh," Cecil whispers, clinging tightly to her hand and shuddering with awe, "if I had fallen down over all those jagged rocks! I shall always, always love you dearly; papa said I must."