"Mr. Grandon," Violet begins, with entreaty in tone and eyes, "couldn't we have the professor's chair up to-day, just for Gertrude; it is so deliciously restful. It is shocking for me to indulge in comfort and see other people sitting in uneasy chairs." Floyd brings it up. Gertrude is so tall that it seems made for her. The soft, thick silk of the cushions, with a curious Eastern fragrance, the springs to raise and to lower, to sleep and to lounge, are perfection. Gertrude sinks into it with her graceful languor, and for once looks neither old nor faded, but delicate and high-bred. Her complexion has certainly improved,--it is less sallow and has lost the sodden look; and her eyes are pensive when she smiles. She proves very entertaining. Perhaps a little cynicism is mixed with her descriptions of the guests and their raiment, but it adds a piquancy in which Floyd has been utterly deficient. Silks and satins, and point and Venetian seem real laces when a woman talks about them. And the prospect for to-night is like a bit of enchantment. "Oh, I should like to see it!" Violet cries, eagerly. "I wonder if it will ever look so lovely again. And the orchestra! I wish I could be down in the pretty summer-house looking and listening. Will they dance any out of doors, think?" "We used to waltz on the long balconies. I dare say they will again. Laura had a delightful ball just before papa was taken ill, when she and Arthur were first engaged. Why, it is just about a year ago, but it seems so long since then," and Gertrude sighs. "Floyd ought to give you a ball when you begin to go into society. Marcia and I had balls when we were eighteen." "I shall not be eighteen until next June," says Violet. "Oh, how young you are! Why, I must seem--And think how much older Floyd is!" "You seem pleasant and lovely to me. What does a few years signify?" protests Violet. Gertrude watches her curiously for some seconds. "I hope you will always be very happy, and that Floyd will be fond of you." "Of course he will," returns Violet, with a sudden flush. He is fond of her now, she is quite sure. She can remember so many deliciously sweet moments that she could tell to no one, and her heart beats with quick bounds. Gertrude knows more of the world and is silent. What if some day Floyd should become suddenly blinded by madame's fascinations? It is always so in novels. Somewhere about mid-afternoon there is a breezy voice in the house, and a step comes up the stair which is not Grandon's. A light tap, and the partly open door is pushed wider.