"Why--I--of course I like him, Violet. I could not marry a man I did _not_ like, or a man who was not kindly or congenial." Then she remembers how very slight an opportunity Violet had to decide whether Floyd would be congenial or not, and is rather embarrassed. "We are not foolish young lovers," she explains, "but I do suppose we shall be happy. He is so kind, so warmhearted; he makes one feel warmed and rested. It did so surprise me, for I had not the faintest idea. I used to stay with you because----" "Well, because what?" Violet is deeply interested in the least reason for all this strange denouement. "Because I never wanted any one to say that you, that he," Gertrude begins to flounder helplessly, "were too much alone." "Who would have said that?" Violet's face is a clear flame, and her dimpled mouth shuts over something akin to indignation. "Oh, don't, my dear Violet! No one could have said it, because he was Floyd's friend, but you see you were so young, such a child, and I was a sort of grandmother, and you had been in so little society----" Gertrude breaks down in a nervous tremble, then she laughs hysterically. "I didn't want you to think _I_ was running after _him_," she cries, deprecatingly. "I only came for company, and all that, and he has taken a fancy to have me, to marry me, though what he wants me for I can't see. I did not suppose I ever should marry. I didn't really care, until Laura began to flaunt her husband in every one's face, and now I shall be so glad to surprise her. What a stir it will make; Marcia will turn fairly green with envy." Violet begins to be confused. Can any one allow all these emotions with love? "And you are not a bit glad," says Gertrude, touched at her silence. "Oh, I am more than glad!" and Violet clasps her arms about Gertrude's neck and kisses her tenderly. Gertrude draws her down on her lap and holds her like a baby. "Oh, you sweet little precious!" she exclaims. "I don't know how any one could help loving you! The professor thinks you are an angel. But you know _I_ should look silly going into transports over a middle-aged man, getting bald on the forehead. I am too tall, too old; but he insists that I will grow younger every year. And I shall try to get back a little of my old beauty. I have not cared, you know, there was nothing to care for, but when you have some one to notice whether your cheeks are pale or pink, and who will want you to be prettily attired--oh, I _am_ growing idiotic, after all!" "So that you are happy, very happy----" "My dear, I substitute comfort for happiness; one is much more likely to at thirty. But you will not believe me when you hear all. He wants to be married early in January, and take me with him to the Pacific coast and to Mexico. I told him I would have to be carried in a palanquin or on a stretcher, but it would be lovely for a wedding tour!"