"Never, Helen, never! Why, there is a little tint of scandal that she was having a desperate escapade with a married man when her mother took her abroad. No, the two are as far apart as the poles. It is really unjust for you to suppose a resemblance." "I did not _quite_ infer a resemblance, but I doubt if Mrs. Floyd _can_ keep pace with her husband, and there are so many silly moths to flutter about such a man. Mrs. Grandon may turn jealous and sulky, or become indifferent and leave him to other people's entertainment and fascinations, and that Madame Lepelletier would never do. They would make such a splendid couple! Like Laura, I regret the wrecked opportunity. They seem made for each other. He no doubt married Miss St. Vincent in the flush of some chivalrous feeling, but she will always be too childish to understand such a man. There will remain just so many years between them." "And _I_ think she will grow up to a perfect wifehood. She is not yet eighteen." "And I cannot understand how a man having a chance to win Madame Lepelletier would not urge it to the uttermost." Mrs. Latimer is set down at her own door, but keeps her confident faith as she talks matters over with John. "Floyd Grandon is about the one level-headed man out of a thousand," he says, decisively. "Whether it is that he cannot be fascinated with womenkind or holds some resentment concerning the past, I am not sure, but he is able to sun himself in the dazzle of Madame Lepelletier's charms with the most perfect friendly indifference that I ever saw. If he were not, she might prove dangerous to the peace of mind of the young wife, who is simply delightful, but who doesn't know any more about love than the sweetest rosebud in the garden." "O John! now your penetration is at fault," laughs the wife; "she unconsciously adores her husband." "Well, I said she didn't _know_ about it, and she does not. The awakening will have to come." Violet meanwhile begins to anticipate the day at Mrs. Latimer's as much as she dreads that at madame's. Cecil is surprised, indignant. "You don't stay with me now," she says, her voice and her small body swelling with emotion. "You let Jane put me to bed, and you don't tell me any stories." "But after Aunt Gertrude is married we shall stay at home, and there will be stories and stories. And you _might_ like to go to Denise," she suggests, with admirable art. "Briggs could drive you in the pony carriage." The temptation is too great. She has winked rather hard to make tears come, and now she ungratefully winks them away again and dances for joy.