"I told you I had bills to pay," she says, pettishly, "and dresses to get." Then she lights upon what seems to her a withering sarcasm. "I have no one to take me to Madame Vauban's and pay no end of bills. If I bought dresses like that when I had no need of them and was not in society----" "Hush, Marcia!" he commands, "you shall have your money. Spend it as you like," and he strides through the hall. He has been sorely tried with Eugene, who will _not_ interest himself in work, and has been indulging in numerous extravagances; and business has not improved, though everything in the factory goes smoothly. Violet is in Cecil's room, teaching her some dainty bits of French. She looks up with a bright smile and a blush, the color ripples over her face so quickly. His is so grave. If she only had the courage to go and put her arms about his neck and inquire into the trouble. She is so intensely sympathetic, so generous in all her moods. He has come home to take her to drive. It is such a soft, Indian-summery day, with the air full of scents and sounds, but all the pleasure has gone out of it now for him. "Papa, listen to me," says Cecil, with her pretty imperiousness. "I can talk to mamma in real French." He smiles languidly and listens. If a man should lose his all, this dainty, dimpled little creature playing at motherhood could set a table, sweep a house, make her children's clothes and perhaps keep cheerful through it. Was there ever any such woman, or is he dreaming? He goes to hunt up Marcia's property, and is tempted to hand it over to her and never trouble his head about it again. But that will not be the part of prudence, any more than trusting their all to Eugene. Having accepted the burthen, he must not lay it down at any chance resting-place. So he hands it to her quietly at luncheon, and that evening listens courteously to his mother's plans, offering no objection. "But he did not evince the slightest interest," she declares to Marcia. "And you will see that every possible obstacle will be put in the way." "And he can spend his money upon pony carriages for her!" retorts Marcia, spitefully. The pony carriage is indeed a grievance, and when Floyd teaches his wife to ride, as her pony is accustomed to the saddle, the cup brims over. He has announced the visitors to her, and she dreads, yet is most anxious to see Madame Lepelletier. "Was not this room hers when she was here in the summer?" asks Violet, standing by the window. "Yes," answers her husband, but he makes no further comment. It looks like crowding Violet out, and he is not sure he wants that. He will have her treated with the utmost respect during this visit, and it will prove an opportunity to establish her in her proper standing as his wife.