"Well, I am glad," returns the young girl, rather hesitatingly. "I am not much used to them, you see, and I like nice jolly times better. I do almost everything in the way of amusement. Do you play lawn tennis?" "I do not quite understand it, and blunder dreadfully," admits Violet. "Oh, I adore it!" "Then Mr. Grandon's brother will be able to entertain you. He is an excellent player." "The one they call Eugene?" "Yes, there is but one." "Papa and Mr. Grandon talked about him. How old is he?" "Past twenty-three," answers Violet, "and very handsome." "Dark or light?" "Dark, brilliant, with a splendid figure and perfect health." "I adore dark men," says Miss Murray. "And does he dance?" "He is an elegant dancer. We are all to go to a German to-morrow evening. Eugene is away now, but will return in the morning." Miss Murray confesses that she "adores" Germans and rowing and riding. She has a magnificent horse at home. She is not going to school any more, but may consider herself regularly in society. After all these confidences Violet leaves her to make any change in her attire that she deems desirable, and Miss Murray comes down in a blue silk that is wonderfully becoming. It makes her complexion more infantile, her hair more golden, and her eyes larger. She has a soft, languishing aspect, and really interests Violet, who does not feel so utterly lacking in wisdom as she did with Miss Dayre, for Miss Murray makes girlish little speeches and "adores" generally. There is an elegant luncheon of fruit and delicacies, and Mrs. Grandon _mere_ presides. Afterward the gentlemen betake themselves to the tower and smoke; Violet and her guest divide between the shady end of the drawing-room and the porch, with its beautiful prospect. When the midday heat begins to abate they have their drive and some trotting on the boulevard. Miss Murray grows quite confidential, not in a weak or silly manner, but with the frank _insouciance_ of youth. She seems so generally bent upon having a good time and being liked, admired. She is simply frank where Miss Dayre was independent. She does everything, rows and rides and plays out-of-door games, even to belonging to an archery club. But needlework is her abhorrence, and with all her restless youth she has a great grace of repose as she sits in the willow veranda chair. Eugene comes through in a night train,--time is so valuable to him,--and is set down, with all his traps, at the door of the mansion just after the gentlemen have had breakfast and departed. Violet catches a glimpse of him and flies up from the summer-house. "Oh, you have come!" she cries. "I am so glad." He takes both hands in his, and if the servants were not about, he would draw down the sweet, blooming face and kiss it. There is an eager light in her eyes, a quiver about the rose-red mouth, a certain abandon that is very fascinating.