The days are crowded full of enjoyment. Mrs. Latimer gives the loveliest tea and the most enchanting _musicale_ with amateurs. Violet is asked to play, and proposes that Eugene and Miss Murray distinguish themselves in a duet from "Don Pasquale," which they sing admirably. Pauline Murray has a soprano voice, with brilliant execution. "I do believe," exclaims Mrs. Latimer, studying Violet, "that you will equal madame as a society woman. I am not sure that I shall admire the cultivated pansy as much as the shy, sweet wood violet, but perhaps it is better. We women with distinguished husbands must keep pace in attractiveness, or the world will take them from us in its sweeping admiration." "I never did have such a lovely time!" Pauline Murray says, after the _musicale_. "And you know I never should have thought of Robin Adair for an _encore_ if it had not been for Eugene." She has come to the young man's Christian name. "Wasn't it a perfect success? I never sang it so well in my life. If papa could have heard it!" And she hums over a stanza,-- "After the ball was o'er What made my heart so sore--" Some tears fill Violet's eyes and she turns away. Then, lest her emotion shall make her appear ungracious, she praises liberally. Days and nights seem to have wings. The travellers return, and Mr. Haviland, back from Europe, comes up to Grandon Park. The gentlemen retire to the tower and discuss business over cigars, and the result is an offer for all right and title to the interest of Grandon & Co. left by James Grandon to his family, and for Mr. St. Vincent's patent. The last is so liberal that Floyd accepts at once; the rest must be considered by the parties concerned, but it has the consent and advice of Floyd Grandon and Mr. Connery. It is late when the conclave breaks up, but Grandon goes up-stairs with a lighter heart than he has carried in many a long day. He has hardly dared to believe in this conclusion, and there will no doubt be some hard fighting before the matter is ended, but he indulges in a long, exultant breath of freedom. His life will be his own henceforward. Passing through Cecil's room, he finds both heads on one pillow. Violet has waked Cecil with her good-night kiss, and the exigeant child has prisoned her with two soft arms and drawn her close to her own pink cheek and rosy, fragrant lips. They seem like a picture, gold and chestnut hair intermingled, complexion of pearl, and the other of creamy tints, soft as a sun-ripe peach. She has fallen asleep there, as she so often does, for youth and health defy carking cares. How lovely they are! Floyd Grandon suddenly counts himself a happy man, and yet he does not waken her with the kisses he longs to shower on brow and cheek and lip. If he did, how brave she would be for the temptation of to-morrow.