What made my heart so sore—"
Some tears fill Violet's eyes and she turns away. Then, lest her emotion shall make her appear ungracious, she praises liberally.
Days and nights seem to have wings. The travellers return, and Mr. Haviland, back from Europe, comes up to Grandon Park. The gentlemen retire to the tower and discuss business over cigars, and the result is an offer for all right and title to the interest of Grandon & Co. left by James Grandon to his family, and for Mr. St. Vincent's patent. The last is so liberal that Floyd accepts at once; the rest must be considered by the parties concerned, but it has the consent and advice of Floyd Grandon and Mr. Connery.
It is late when the conclave breaks up, but Grandon goes up-stairs with a lighter heart than he has carried in many a long day. He has hardly dared to believe in this conclusion, and there will no doubt be some hard fighting before the matter is ended, but he indulges in a long, exultant breath of freedom. His life will be his own henceforward.
Passing through Cecil's room, he finds both heads on one pillow. Violet has waked Cecil with her good-night kiss, and the exigeant child has prisoned her with two soft arms and drawn her close to her own pink cheek and rosy, fragrant lips. They seem like a picture, gold and chestnut hair intermingled, complexion of pearl, and the other of creamy tints, soft as a sun-ripe peach. She has fallen asleep there, as she so often does, for youth and health defy carking cares. How lovely they are! Floyd Grandon suddenly counts himself a happy man, and yet he does not waken her with the kisses he longs to shower on brow and cheek and lip. If he did, how brave she would be for the temptation of to-morrow.
After breakfast Floyd summons his mother and Eugene into the library. Lucia Brade calls in her pony phaeton and entices Pauline, who is always ready for a pleasure. Violet flutters about her room, sends Cecil and Jane out for a constitutional, and then picks up a book. Summer is on the wane, and the air has a fragrance of ripening grapes, sun-warmed fruit, and the luxurious sweetness of madeira-blooms. The voices from the library touch her faintly. Mrs. Grandon's has a high, aggressive swell now and then, and Eugene's drops to that sort of sullen key she knows so well in the past. What is taking place? Will there be some new trouble for Floyd?
She walks down to the summer-house from some half-defined, delicate motive. After a while the three gentlemen go away, Floyd giving a questioning glance around. She drops her book on her knee and lapses into a wondering mood, when a step breaks her revery.
Eugene is flushed and angry, yet it does not make him the less handsome, though it is very different from his usual indolent ease.
"What is the matter?" she asks, for form's sake, for she almost knows.
"Matter!" and he kicks viciously at a pebble that has dared to rear its head in the smooth walk, sending it over on the grassy lawn. "The matter is that Floyd is selling us all out with a high hand. That is what Murray's visit and all this going to and fro mean. He has had an offer, and he doesn't care for anything so long as you come out on the topmost round."