"And it does look like it," declares Marcia, who is delighted to ferret out unorthodox loves. "I mean to watch them."
"Do no such thing," he commands. "Eugene will not be very hard hit, and your brother is quite capable of taking care of his wife. They are like two children, but it is a pity Eugene had not been wiser. If your brother had only waited until Eugene had met Miss St. Vincent. The hurry in this matter always did surprise me a little. But I forbid you ever breathing a word to your brother. You see what a foolish husband I am to trust you with secrets," and he laughs.
"No, you are not foolish. Of course I should never speak of it to Floyd," she says, reflectively. She would never have the courage.
"Well, that is all right," patronizingly. "I dare say the rest know it. It was because you were not in their confidence."
That remark nettles Marcia, and she secretly resolves to find out, as Jasper Wilmarth is quite certain that she will. He has spoken of this with a purpose, not simply in foolish marital confidence. He believes Violet Grandon is very much in love with her husband, and he does not care who gives her the stab. It is this adoration that adds fuel to his hatred of Floyd Grandon.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Men comfort each other more easily on their Ararat, than women in their vales of Tempe.—Jean Paul.
Wilmarth learns nothing from Eugene the next day, from the simple fact that the young man neither knows nor cares what took Floyd off so suddenly. Wilmarth has a slight clew in the departure of some person for Europe, and he is quite sure that it relates to the sale of the factory, but in this matter Floyd Grandon, as executor of both parties, is not compelled to discuss the plans long beforehand with him. Floyd does not like the business any better, and Eugene is quite indifferent to it. There is not the slightest prospect of his being able to take the head of the management, and he was certain of that a year ago. He has not been blind to the young man's infatuation for Madame Lepelletier, and he secretly hopes now that it will be transferred to Mrs. Grandon. Certainly such dissipations are much less expensive than fast horses and champagne suppers. As for himself, he sees that he must go as circumstances dictate. He will make some money, but he can never be master here, with his name up in plain solid gilt letters over the entrance, as he once allowed himself to dream. He can strike back a few blows to the man who has interfered with his ambitious projects and understood them to some extent, how far he cannot decide. He is secretly amused at Marcia's warm partisanship, and cautiously feeds the fire he has kindled.
Violet makes herself contented for the next two days in a kind of dreamy fashion, when a note comes from her husband, iterating his regret at not saying good by, and hoping Marcia's party proved a pleasure.