It certainly is a delightful dinner party, and Mrs. Grandon is in her glory. She almost forgives Violet her existence for the opportuneness of the accident. She is just as much mistress as ever, and to be important is Mrs. Grandon's great delight. She hates secondary positions. To be a dowager without the duchess is the great cross of her life. If Mr. Grandon could have left her wealthy, the sting of his death would not be half so bitter. It is late when the guests disperse. Violet has insisted that he shall not give her an anxious thought, but he is a man, and he does some incipient envying on her account. Of course to have her up-stairs, an invalid, would not better the position, but to have her _here_, bright and well and joyous, full of quaint little charms, and he has never known how full, how over-brimming she was with all manner of fascinating devices until the last few days. If his mother could realize that under this courteous and attentive exterior, the breeding of the polished man of the world, he is thinking only of Violet in white wrappers, with a cluster of flowers at her throat, she would be more than ever amazed at his idiocy. There is to be a small company at Mrs. Brade's the next evening, a reception to "dear Laura." "You _must_ come," declares Mrs. Brade, emphatically. "We ought to have a chance at our old friend, and you and the boys grew up together. Do you remember how you used to roast corn and apples at the kitchen fire, and go over your Latin? Why, it seems only yesterday, and all my children are married and gone, save Lucia." "I shall have to be excused," Floyd Grandon says, in a quiet tone, but with a smile that is fully as decisive. "I shall owe to-morrow evening to my wife, who cannot yet leave her room." "How very sad and unfortunate! Are we never to have a sight of her, Mr. Grandon, except the glimpses in the carriage and at church?" "Certainly," he answers. "Circumstances have kept us from society, and I have really had no time for its claims, but I hope to have more presently for it, as well as for her." "We shall be glad to see you, never doubt that. Lucia will be so disappointed to-morrow evening." Grandon bows. Is there anything more to say proper to the occasion? He has heard so much during the last three months that he has grown quite nervous on the subject of society etiquette. On the morrow Violet is anxious to hear about the dinner. She is young and full of interest in gay doings, in spite of her early sorrow. He makes blunders over the dresses, and they both laugh gayly; he describes the guests and the old friends, and the complimentary inquiries about her. "I wish you could be there on Thursday evening," he says, regretfully. "That is to be a party with dancing, and plenty of young people,--Laura's companions." "And I have never been to a real party in all my life!" she cries. "I suppose I couldn't dance, but I could look on, and there is my lovely dress!"