"I don't think it all that," says Violet, with a most beguiling flush. "There was another sorrow in her life, a--she loved some one very much. If he had died it would not have been as bad, but--oh, I wonder if I _ought_ to tell?" and she finds so much encouragement in his eyes that she goes on. "He was--very unworthy." "Ah!" The professor strokes and fondles his long, sunny beard. "But she should cast him out, she should not keep pale and thin, and in ill health, and brood over the trouble." "I do not believe her life is--well, you see they all have other pursuits and are fond of society, and she stays too much alone," explains Violet, with a perplexed brow. "She is so good to me, I like her." "Who could help being good to thee, _mignonne_?" and the look with which he studies the flower-like face brings a soft flush to it. Torture would not make her complain, but she feels in her inmost soul that Gertrude, alone, has been even kind. And she wishes somehow she could make him like her better than any of the others, even the beautiful madame, about whom he is enthusiastic. "Bah!" he says. "Why should one go mourning for an unworthy love? When it is done and over there is the end. When you are once disenchanted, how can you believe?" "But you are not disenchanted," says Violet, stoutly. "You have believed and loved, you have made a little world of your own, and even if it does go down in the great ocean you can never quite forget it was there." "But there are other worlds. See, Mrs. Grandon, when I was two-and-twenty I loved to madness. She was eighteen and adorable, but her mother would not hear to a betrothment. I had all my fortune yet to make. I threw up my hopes and aims and took to commercial pursuits, which I hated. We exchanged vows and promised to wait, and the end of it was that she married a handsome young fellow with a fortune. I went back to my books. A few years afterward I saw her, stout, rosy, and happy, with her two children, and then--well, I did not want her. The life she delighted in would have been ashes in my mouth. It was better, much better. People are not all wise at two-and-twenty." "If Gertrude had something to do," says Violet, "and that is where men are fortunate. They can try so many things." The professor goes on stroking his head, and drops into a revery. "Yes, it is hard," he says, "it is hard." And he wonders not at the colorless life. But he must smoke his pipe and then dress for the party, so he bids Violet a cordial good evening. She feels a little tired after all the excitements of the day, and is glad to have Denise put her in bed, where she lies dreamily and wonders what love is like.