"You have been very happy?" Floyd Grandon says to his wife.
"It has been perfect," she makes answer. "I could ask nothing more, nothing."
He kisses her with a little sigh. Is there something more, and does he long for it?
CHAPTER .
"Love and hay are thick sown, but come up full of thistles."
Mrs. Floyd Grandon is considered fairly in society, and the world decides there is nothing detrimental about her. She is admitted to be pretty, she is well-bred, with some little touches of formalism, due to her training, that are really refreshing to elderly people, and sit quaintly upon her. She is charming, both when her natural vivacity crops out, that has been so repressed, and when she is shyly diffident. Cards and invitations are left for her, and Grandon Park blossoms out into unwonted gayety. The people who go away find no difficulty in renting their houses to those who want to come; perhaps the Latimers have given the impetus, for Mrs. Latimer is one of those women who are always quoted, without having any special desire to achieve a society reputation. The cottage frequently has some visitors of note: its smallness renders large companies impossible.
There is the usual lawn tennis, and croquet, which is rather falling into desuetude, but still affords unequalled opportunities for flirtation. There is boating, and the river looks quite gay with boats with striped and colored awnings to protect the fair ones from the sun. Grandon and Latimer are famous oarsmen, and often gather an admiring audience which gets greatly excited over the victorious champion, though honors keep evenly divided. Then there are garden parties and musical evenings, so there is no lack of amusement.
Violet has become quite an expert driver, and she and her pretty step-daughter, who keep up their adoration of each other, make a lovely picture in the basket phaeton. She rides on horseback very well, and here Eugene is always at her service. In fact, though he never quite confesses it, he lets her fancy that he is an unfortunate moth who has been drawn into the flame when he would not have flown of his own account and desire. He is the kind of masculine who must always be dear to some woman, who floats on the strongest current of fascination or sympathy. It has been the former, it is now the latter. The many frank allurements of youth in Violet charm him insensibly. She has a secret sympathy and a curious misgiving that she cannot overcome,—it grows upon her, indeed,—that Madame Lepelletier is dangerous to man and woman.
Had madame more personal vanity in her conquests, she might feel piqued at the defection of her knight, who has not wavered in his allegiance for the last year. She is rather pleased than otherwise, she even breathes little bits of encouragement and commendation to Violet, as if seconding her efforts; and Violet falls into the mistake that many have made before her, of comforting a young man and assisting him to overlive his fancy for another woman, as well as secretly blaming the other. Eugene is so fond of shifting burthens upon other people.