"Violet," calls Eugene up the stairway, "come down. Isn't Cecil asleep?"
She would rather stay there and dream, but she seldom thinks of herself first. Cecil is sleeping soundly, and she glides down to talk a little, play a little, and sing a few songs. Listening to her, Eugene begins to consider himself a consummate fool. He would not marry madame if he could. If it were all to do over again,—but then he was not prepossessed with Violet when he first saw her, and now it is too late. He has no high and fine sentiments, he simply recognizes the fact that she is the wife of another; and though youth may indulge in foolish fondness, it is generally older and riper natures that are ready for a plunge in the wild vortex of passion.
Their days pass in simple idyllic fashion. Another party is neglected, and even a German passed by, to the great astonishment of Marcia. She has called home several times, but they have been out, not always together, though she chooses to think so. Violet has spent hours and hours with Mrs. Latimer, whose great charm is that she talks of Floyd Grandon, and she is amused with her ready, devoted listener.
Marcia does find her at home one morning.
"I think it a shame that Eugene did not go to the Brades' last night;" and her voice is thinner, sharper than usual, a sure sign of vexation. "They had counted on him for the German, and were awfully disappointed."
"I did not want to go," replies Violet, in a soft, excusing tone.
"I don't see what that had to do with it," is Marcia's short, pointed comment.
Violet glances up. "Why, yes, he could have gone," she says, cheerfully. "I told him I did not mind staying alone. I do not understand Germans, and——"
"You could have looked on," interrupts Marcia. "It seems extremely disobliging to the Brades, when they have taken the pains to cultivate you."
"I have never been in company without Mr. Grandon," Violet says, in a steady tone, though her cheeks are scarlet, "except at your garden party, and then he asked Eugene to take me."