"Why, we were just going so perfectly! It was like a dream. How beautifully you do waltz! What is the matter?" All this is uttered in a breath. "I want you to go waltz with Miss Brade," says Violet. "She looks so lonely talking to that old Mr. Carpenter." "Nonsense." And he tries to swing her into line. "No; I do not feel as if I had any business with the young men," says Violet, rather promptly, standing her ground with resolution. "See here," exclaims Eugene, suddenly, "if I waltz with her, will you give me another somewhere? If you won't, I shall not dance another step to-night," and he shakes his black curls defiantly. That means he will keep close to her as a shadow, and she wishes he would not. "Yes," she answers, "if you will do your duty you shall be rewarded." "Be good and you will be happy," he quotes. "Take _me_ over to Mr. Carpenter." "He will prose you to death. See, there is Mrs. Carpenter waltzing with Fred Kirkbride. That is the way young and pretty second wives enjoy themselves," says this candid young man. Lucia Brade goes off supremely happy. Violet watches them from her rustic seat. She has been a little amazed at Lucia's evident preference, so plainly shown. Mr. Carpenter only needs a listener to render him supremely happy in his monologues, so Violet can follow her own thoughts. She is wondering why she feels so lost and lonely in this bright scene, and why the waltz did not enchant her! Where is Mr. Grandon--drowsing in a railway car? If he were here! The very thought thrills her. Yes, it _is_ her husband she misses,--not quite as she used to miss him, either. He has grown so much more to her, he fills all the spaces of her life. He may be absent bodily, but he is in her soul, he has possession of her very being. Is this love? A strange thrill runs over her. The lights, the dancing, the talk beside her, might all be leagues away. She is penetrated, possessed by a blissful knowledge, something deeper, finer, keener than she has ever dreamed, not simply the reverence and obedience of the marriage vow that she has supposed included all. And then comes another searching question,--how much of just this kind of love has Floyd Grandon for her? The waltz has ended, and the lanciers begun. She will not dance that, but sends Eugene in quest of another partner, at which he grumbles. The Latimers are not here,--a sick baby has prevented,--though now Violet begins to feel quite at home with many of the dwellers in the park and about. Even madame searches her out presently. "My dear child," she says, in that soft, suave tone, "are you not well this evening? You are such a little recluse." "Quite well." And the brilliant face answers for her. "Then you are not enjoying yourself. You young people ought to be up in every set." "I did dance. But I like to look on. The figures are so graceful, and the music is bewitching."