"I am very sorry," she begins, but some one enters the dressing-room and she goes down presently to be warmly welcomed by several of the guests. Eugene constitutes himself her knight, and she feels very grateful. It is so strange to go in company without her husband; she can roam about the woods or drive her pony carriage and not feel lonely, but it seems quite solitary here, although she has met most of the people.
Eugene takes her arm and escorts her about. They are a charming young couple in their youth and beauty, and more than one person discerns the fitness. The business, too, would be of so much more account to Eugene, and he is in most need of a fortune. Jasper Wilmarth wonders if a time of regret will come to him.
Wafts of music float out on the summer night air. There is some dancing and much promenading. Marcia has a surprise in store, a series of tableaux arranged out of doors, with a pale rose light that renders them extremely effective, and they are warmly applauded. The guests sit at the tables and enjoy creams, ices, and salads: it is the perfection of a garden party. Marcia is in rather æsthetic attire, but it is becoming, and she is brimful of delight, though she wishes Floyd were here to see. She has a misgiving that he does not mean to rate Jasper Wilmarth very highly, and her wifely devotion resents it, for she is devoted. Jasper Wilmarth is both pleased and interested in the puppet he can move hither and thither to his liking, and occasionally to his service. He is gratified to see her party a success, though somewhat annoyed at the defection of his brother-in-law, who so far has not been his guest. He is piqued, too, about the sudden journey, and remembers now that a telegram came for him this morning. There is no business connection in Baltimore that need be made a secret, unless it is some secret of his own.
"There," exclaims Eugene, "a waltz at length! I began to think the ogre had forbidden so improper a proceeding. Now you are to waltz with me." And he rises, with her hand in his, but Violet keeps her seat.
"Why is waltzing considered improper?" she asks, slowly.
"Upon my life I don't know, unless, like the woman, you have to draw the line somewhere, and it is drawn at your relations or your husband. I have it—bright thought—it is to give them some especial privileges that will rouse the envy of the rest of the world. For myself I think it a humbug. There are other dances quite as reprehensible when you come to that, but I've never come to harm in any," and he laughs. "And as for flirting, there are devices many and various; when you reach that point, Madame Lepelletier can do more with her eyes than any dozen girls I know could with their feet. Come."
"I think—I do not feel like it," replies Violet.
"Oh, don't wear the willow!" advises the young man. "You have just been up in one quadrille, and people will notice it. Besides, I was very particular to respect any lingering prejudice my august brother might have had."
"And he said you were to waltz with me?"
"Oh," he rejoins, in a kind of hurt tone, "you really do not suppose I would tell you a falsehood in this matter! I really do want to waltz with you, but I shouldn't descend to any such smallness as that."