Gertrude knows more of the world and is silent. What if some day Floyd should become suddenly blinded by madame's fascinations? It is always so in novels.
Somewhere about mid-afternoon there is a breezy voice in the house, and a step comes up the stair which is not Grandon's. A light tap, and the partly open door is pushed wider.
"Mr. Grandon allows me the privilege of making a call of condolence," the professor says, with his cheery smile, that wrinkles his face in good-humored lines. "My dear Mrs. Grandon, did you really forget you had no wings when you attempted to fly? Accept my sympathies, my very warmest, for I was once laid up in the same way, without the excuse of the stairs. Ah, Miss Grandon," and he holds out his hand to her, "have you given up the pleasure at the park?"
"I wouldn't let her give up the reception," interrupts Violet. "No one is to give it up for me," and she remembers suddenly that no one has offered.
"I should be a great deal happier and better pleased to remain here," responds Gertrude, "but Laura would be vexed. After all, it is a good deal to her and madame. Mrs. Floyd Grandon will take her turn next year, when she arrives at legal age. She is yet a mere child."
"It is so, mignonne, and you could not dance with a lame foot."
"You are going?" Violet says.
"Yes, I hurried back. Mrs. Delancy was so kind as to send a note. And I had a desire to see my friend's house on this occasion. But why were you not moved?" and he turns his questioning eyes on Violet.
"The doctor forbade it," answers Violet. "And I want to get thoroughly well, so I obey."
"That is good, that is good," replies the professor, in a tone of the utmost commendation.