Floyd Grandon and his wife are down in the early part of the evening. This is really Mr. Wilmarth's triumph. The greeting is courteous, if formal, and the man has come to him, Jasper Wilmarth. As a member of the Grandon family, he is not to be overlooked. As a man, he can win a wife as well as the more favored ones, and there are women present with much less style and prettiness than Marcia.
His whim has not proved so foolish, after all, and Marcia is at present bewildered and conquered by the power he holds over her, brought for a little while out of her silly self by an ennobling regard.
After their reception they take a short tour, and return to Westbrook, where Mr. Wilmarth has engaged his house. Marcia has a house-furnishing craze, and goes to and fro in her pony carriage, ordering with the consequence of a duchess. Mrs. Latimer comes up to the cottage and gets settled, quite charming Denise by her delightful ways. Madame seems in no especial haste, but she promises, after some solicitation from Floyd, to spend a few days with them and give her advice about the fête that is to introduce his wife into society, as well as to celebrate her birthday. It is quite time that Violet was known to the world as the mistress of the house and his wife. He is oddly interested in her dress and all her belongings, and her delight is exquisite to witness.
CHAPTER XXI.
Life is but thought, so think I will,
That youth and I are housemates still.
Coleridge.
Violet had imagined the place when Laura's reception was given, but this sight far exceeds her wildest dreams. The moon is nearly at its full, and the lawn lies in a sheet of silver light, while the lamps throw out long rays of color. Roses are everywhere, it is their blossoming time. All the air is sweet and throbs with music that stirs her pulses like some rare enchantment. The odorous evergreens are rich in new and fragrant growth, the velvet turf gives out a perfume to the night air and looks like emerald in the moonlight. Beds of flowers are cut in it here and there, a few clumps of shrubbery, the pretty summer-houses, the sloping terrace, and the river surging with an indolent monotone, make a rarely beautiful picture. The columns upholding the porch roof are wreathed with vines, but the spaces between are clear. The low windows are all open, and it is fairyland without and within. Floyd Grandon paces up and down, with John Latimer at his side, while the band around on the other side are in the discord of tuning up.
"Upon my word, Grandon, you are to be envied," says Latimer. "I am not sure we have done a wise thing coming up here this summer. The fuss and pomp of fashion rarely move me to any jealous state of mind, but I am afraid this will awaken absolute covetousness."