Cecil breaks into his thoughts with her tender chatter. She is not an obtrusive child, and, though bright, has grave moods and strange spells of thought. She is delighted to be so high up and able to look down over everything. They return at length, and he carries her down-stairs. On the second floor there is a connecting passage to the main house, and two beautiful rooms that he planned for himself because they were retired. Feminine belongings are scattered about,--satchels and fans and queer bottles of perfumery. He guesses rightly that Laura is domiciled here, and in the adjoining chamber Gertrude lies on the bed with a novel. "Oh, Floyd!" "Pardon me." "Come in," she says, raising herself on one elbow. "I am up here a good deal, because I like quiet and my health is so wretched. Everybody else is busy about something, and I bore them, so I keep out of their way." "You do look poorly," he answers, sympathetically. She is not only pale, but sallow, and there are hollows in her cheeks. Her hands, which were once very pretty, are thin as birds' claws. There is a fretful little crease in her forehead, and her eyes have a look of utter weariness. "Yes, I am never strong. I cannot bear excitement. Marcia's life would exhaust me in a month, and Laura's fuss would drive me crazy. Have they said anything about her marriage?" "It is all settled, or will be when her lover comes to-day. Do you like him, Gertrude?" "He is well enough, I suppose, and rich. You couldn't imagine Laura marrying a poor man." Floyd Grandon is not at all sure that he understands the hidden or manifest purposes of love, but he has a secret clinging to the orthodox belief that it is a necessary ingredient in marriages. "You are cynical," he says, with a pleasant laugh. "You do not have enough fresh air." "But I see Laura." Then, after a pause, "Do not imagine I have the slightest objection. There will be only two of us left, and it does seem as if Marcia might pick up some one. Floyd----" "Well," as she makes a long pause. "Do you know anything about the business? Eugene is so--so unsatisfactory. Where is Laura going to get her money?" "I shall attend to that. Gertrude, what has been said about affairs that makes you all so desponding?" Floyd Grandon asks a question as if he expected an answer. Gertrude gives a little twist to her long, slender figure, and pushes one shoulder forward. "Well, there has been no money, and Eugene cannot get any. And all you hear about is notes to pay." The house certainly does not look as if there was any lack. The table is bountiful, and he has seen four servants, he is quite sure. "My not being here has delayed the settlement, no doubt," he answers, cheerfully. "It will all come right." "You quite put courage into one. I suppose you always feel well and strong; you have grown handsome, Floyd, and there is nothing to make you desponding."