"I think you are very indiscreet, Marcia," exclaims her mother, when Floyd has left the room. "Do try to keep peaceable. It is a shame to have you quarrelling all the time! How could he help disposing of the business? It was only held in trust until it could be settled." For Mrs. Grandon has resolved herself into quite a comfortable frame of mind. Eugene will not come to grief; on the contrary, his prospects are so bright that her spirits rise accordingly. He is her darling, her pride. She has no foolish jealousy of the young girl who is to be his wife,--she could not have chosen better herself. Her motherly cares are at an end, her income is assured. She would rather have Madame Lepelletier in Violet's place, but she will not allow the one bitter to spoil so much sweet. Madame Lepelletier is somewhat amazed at the turn affairs have taken. Eugene has not been the trump card she hoped. There is so much going on at the great house that she is quite distanced. But one evening Floyd comes down with a message that he has not cared to trust to others. It is a little cool, and she has a bit of fire in the grate, though the windows are open to the dewy, sweet air. All is so quiet and tranquil, and for a month there has been little save confusion and flying to and fro at home. She remarks that he is thinner and there is a restlessness in the eyes, while the face is set and stern. "You are working too hard," she begins, in her sympathetic voice. "All this has been a great care. You ought to have something----" His sensitive pride takes the alarm. Does she, too, think he had his covetous eye on the St. Vincent fortune? "Don't!" he interrupts, in a strained, imploring tone. "I should hate to have you of all others think I was moved in whatever I have done by any thought of personal gain. I could wish that not one dollar of gain had come to me,--and it has not," he says, defiantly. "I will confess to you that I was moved by the profoundest pity for a dying man, and I was afraid then that we should all go to ruin together." "Ah," she returns, and a beguiling light plays over her face like some swift ripple, "I never looked upon it in any other light. I knew you better than you believed I did." He has one friend, he thinks, in a daring, obstinate sort of way quite new to him. CHAPTER XXVIII. Desires unsatisfied, abortive hope, Repinings which provoked vindictive thought, These restless elements forever wrought. SOUTHEY. "Good night," John Latimer says, as they stand at the gate of the eyrie. They have been spending a delightful evening. Prof. Freilgrath is on his way home, and after a brief visit must make a flying trip to Germany. Latimer has half decided to go with him, and has been persuading Floyd. It looks very tempting,--a two or three months' vacation.