"And Denise made such a lovely fire for her," says Cecil. "She wasn't a bit cold. I wish we could live here, it is so little and nice."
That seems to amuse the professor greatly. He feeds Cecil grapes, and plans how it shall be. Grandon, too, seems in unusual spirits; and presently they have an enchanting walk home. The October day is gorgeous, and they find some chestnuts. The pony carriage is talked over again, and Floyd promises to look it up immediately.
That evening at dinner Marcia says, suddenly, "Did you and the professor dine with madame last night? Mother's letter came this morning, in which she spoke of expecting you. Of course madame looked like a queen in
"'The folds of her wine-dark velvet dress.'"
"It was—blue or green or something, only not wine-color," says Floyd.
"Was any one else there?"
"No, it was just for the professor."
"She might have had the goodness to remember there were more in the family. Mrs. Grandon and myself," declares Eugene, almost in a tone of vexation.
"What was the opera? I think you are getting very——"
"'Martha,'" he interrupts, quickly. "An acquaintance of madame's sang as Plunkett, and did extremely well; a young Italian who only a year or two ago lost his fortune."