They are all very tired when they reach home. Mrs. Grandon is the happiest. She is the mother of two well-married daughters. They will be no further expense or care, and perhaps some one may pick up Marcia. She is no better reconciled to her son's marriage; in truth, as it sometimes happens where no real fault can be discovered, an obstinate person will fall back upon a prejudice. For a governess Violet would answer admirably, but she has no qualification for the position into which she has thrust herself.
January comes in bitterly cold, and the great house is very lonely. Marcia is flitting about, Mrs. Grandon makes another visit to New York, Eugene is moody and distraught, for he is very much smitten with madame, who, to do her justice, does not encourage the passion, though in a certain way she enjoys the young man's adoration. Then, too, he is extremely miserable about money. He hates to curtail any indulgence, he is fond of theatres, operas, petit soupers, fresh gloves, and fast horses, and he is put upon an allowance, which makes him hate Floyd and grumble to Wilmarth.
Floyd is deep in a literary venture, or rather it is no venture at all, a series of travels and descriptions of out-of-the-way corners of Asia, with new and marvellous discoveries. He is so excited and interested that he almost forgets other matters, and the time being short, every day is precious. Violet understands this, and amuses herself and Cecil, drives out to the cottage and spends days with Denise, and is a happy, bright little creature. Mrs. Latimer comes up for two or three days, which is utterly delightful.
Madame meanwhile has her hands full. She is sought after, and invitations accumulate on her table. Her callers are the crême of the city. Brokers who are up early, drop in to her elegant little teas and bring her bouquets when roses are at their highest. Professional men find a wonderful charm in her conversation. There are generally one or two bright women beside, and the room takes on the appearance of a select party. She gives a superb little dinner, to which Floyd goes, but Violet does not, though warmly invited. Often after working all day he takes the evening train down to the city, and long before he is back Violet is asleep. They are quietly happy. He is fond, though a good deal preoccupied.
Yet the time does not hang heavily. There have been several more plays and some fine concerts, but when they have taken the late train the pleasure has been somewhat fatiguing. Letters come from Gertrude, who admits that she grows foolishly happy. The professor makes such a delightful husband. She cannot go about a great deal, but he describes places and people to her, and she enjoys it quite as much. Gertrude certainly is not exigeant, and she has a touch of tender gratitude that makes the professor feel continually that he has done a good deed by marrying her, which is a flattering unction to the man's generous soul.
March comes in, and the pressing work being done, Floyd turns to the business. It is a success, but he is not any more in love with it. They have demonstrated now that the new looms carry a secret that must revolutionize trade. He holds long interviews with Mr. Connery and Ralph Sherburne. He has the privilege, being joint executor with Mr. Sherburne, of selling out all St. Vincent's right and title, and he has already been offered a fortune for it. He will deal justly and fairly by the dead man's genius, and Violet will be an heiress, which in one way gratifies, and in another way pains. He likes his mother and the world to know that Violet has a rank of her own, since money confers that, and in the future nothing she chooses will be considered extravagant in her. But he hates to be suspected of any mercenary considerations. He always had enough for both.
He lays the matter before Mr. Wilmarth, being quite convinced now that Eugene will never make a business man. He will not hurry matters, but when the legacies have been paid he shall close his connection with the factory.
"But Mrs. Grandon still has a life interest," suggests Jasper Wilmarth.
"That can be hypothecated, or the will gives her the privilege of taking any certain sum that can be agreed upon. It would not impoverish me to pay it myself," he says, with a fine contempt.
"But your brother must agree to all this; it is his business, not yours."