A little whisper floats about in the air that young Mrs. Grandon is not _quite_--but no one finishes the sentence that Laura so points with a shrug. It seems a pity that a man of his position and attainments should stumble upon such a _mesalliance_. The sprained ankle is all very well, but the feeling is that some lack in gift or grace or education is quite as potent as any physical mishap in keeping her away to-night. Gertrude, out of pure good-nature, praises her, but Gertrude is a little _passe_ and rather out of society. The professor speaks admiringly, but he is Mr. Grandon's _confrere_, and a scholar is not a very good judge of a young girl's capacity to fill such a place in the world as Mrs. Floyd Grandon's _ought_ to be. But all this creates in his favor a romantic sympathy, and this evening men and women alike have found him charming. CHAPTER XVII. Of a truth there are many unexpected things in a long life.--ARISTOPHANES. "With whom did you dance?" Violet asks, her face one lovely glow of eager interest; jealousy and she are unknown at this period. "Dance? an old fellow like me?" "You are not old!" and her face is a delicious study of indignation. "You are not as old as the professor." "But he did not dance, and Gertrude did not dance." "Oh," her face clouds over, "are people--do they get too old to dance?" "They certainly do." "And you said you would dance with me!" she cries, in despairing accents. He laughs heartily, and yet it is very sweet to witness her abandon of disappointment. "My darling, I shall not be too old to dance with you until I am bald and rheumatic and generally shaky," he answers, in a fond tone. "Then it was because--_was_ it because _I_ was not there?" "It certainly was"; and he smiles down into the velvety brown eyes. "And it was very base manners, too." "Oh," with a long, quivering breath, that moves her whole slender body, "how thoughtful you were! And did madame dance much?" she asks, presently. "It must be lovely to see her dance. What did she wear?" "Violet velvet. Well, the color of some very pale wood violets, such as I used to find hereabouts when I was a lad. Last summer I found another kind." She considers a moment before she sees the point, and then claps her hands delightedly. "They are all coming over to call this afternoon, I believe. Isn't there some sort of pretty gown among those things that came from New York?" "Yes, a lovely white cashmere, with bits of purple here and there." "And I shall carry you down-stairs. We must have a fire made in the professor's parlor. It will be your reception. The ladies go home on Saturday." "And now tell me all about it, last night, I mean. Begin at the very first," she says, with a bewitching imperiousness. In spite of himself a quick color goes over his face. The "very first" was Laura's impossible command. Then he laughs confusedly and answers,--