That is settled. Floyd's boxes and trunks make their appearance, Eugene orders the horses, and the four go to drive on this magnificent afternoon. "I think," Floyd says to his mother when the sound of wheels has subsided, "this luggage may as well go to the tower room. I wish----" Will he not seem ungracious to declare his preferences so soon? "What?" she asks, a little nervously. "It would make too much fuss at this crisis to change rooms with the girls, I suppose?" "Let Laura take the larger front room? She did have it until we heard you were coming. Oh, she wouldn't mind. But you----" "I should be out of the way there by myself," he pleads. "All my traps would be handy, and if I wanted to sit up at night I should disturb no one." "It shall be just as you like. Yes, it would be more convenient for you. Why, we could go at it this very afternoon." "But Gertrude----" "Give Gertrude a book and she would sit in the debris of Mount Vesuvius," says her mother. Mary, the housemaid, is called upon, and cook generously offers her services. Gertrude comes down-stairs grumbling a little. The two rooms are speedily dismantled of feminine belongings, but the quaint old mahogany bedroom suite is taken over because Floyd prefers it to the light ash with its fancy adornments. James, the coachman, and Briggs, the young lad, carry up the luggage. There is a little sweeping and dusting, and Floyd settles his rooms as he has often settled a tent or a cabin or a cottage. He has grown to be as handy as a woman. He feels more at home over here, not so much like a guest. His room is not so large, but he has all the tower and the wide prospect on both sides. He can read and smoke and sit up at his pleasure without disturbing a soul. The "girls" and the wedding finery will all be together. "Laura will be delighted," declares Mrs. Grandon again. In her secret heart she feels this arrangement will take Floyd a little out of madame's reach. Beside the tower there is a back stairway leading to a side entrance, quite convenient to Eugene's room. It is admirable altogether. Floyd begins to unpack with hearty energy. Only the most necessary articles, the rest will keep till a day of leisure. To-morrow he must look into the business, and he hopes he will not find matters very troublesome. He has a good deal of his own work to do, and he sighs a little, wishing the wedding were well over. Laura leaves her lover at the station, and is not a whit disconcerted by the change in affairs. She and Madame Lepelletier are going to the city to-morrow to spend several days in shopping, and this evening they must devote to a discussion of apparel. They scarcely miss Floyd, who goes to bed at last with the utmost satisfaction. CHAPTER IV. My heart no truer, but my words and ways more true to it.--ROBERT BROWNING.