He is thinking the sooner they go the better. He will not have his mother saying she came destitute and penniless, or considering her attire out of the way. He went once to the city with Laura, and left her at a modiste's, and he can find it again, so he will take them there and order all that any lady in Violet's station will require. No one need know they have gone. It all flashes over him in an instant. He had meant merely to make arrangements, but now he plans the trip. They can go to Westbrook station, they can return without being seen of prying eyes. He feels a little more sensitive on the subject because he has so lately seen all of Laura's wedding paraphernalia. There will be Laura, and perhaps madame to inspect her, and she must stand the test well for her own sake. He would like to see her always in a white gown; even that gray one was pretty the day she saved his darling. "Yes," he says, rousing suddenly. "Denise understands all about these matters. You are still so young." Laura he remembers was but a year older, but, oh, how much wiser in worldly lore! No, he would never care to have Violet wise in that way. "And if it had been otherwise,--my child, it was a sad bridal. Some time we will make amends for all that." Her eyes fill with tears. She is still looking very grave when Denise takes her in the fond, motherly arms. While she is gone upstairs to papa's room, Grandon explains and convinces Denise that the journey is absolutely necessary, and that no one can serve her young mistress as well as she. He sends a carriage for them while he takes Marcia's phaeton home, and explains to Cecil that her mamma has some important business with Denise, and tells his mother neither of them will be home to luncheon. Denise looks the neat old serving-woman to perfection, and once started on their journey Violet's face brightens. They find the modiste, who inspects her new customers and is all suavity. Grandon makes a brief explanation, and questions if all toilets must be black. "It is extremely sad," and Madame Vauban looks sympathetic. "And she is so young, so petite! Crapes seem to weigh her down, yet there must be some for street use. If madame was not purposing to wear it very long, it might be lightened the sooner. Just now there could be only black and white." "Put plenty of white in it, then," orders Mr. Grandon, and samples are brought out for his inspection. He thinks after this sorrowful time is over she shall dress like a little queen. There are so many lovely gowns and laces, so much that is daintily pretty, appropriate for her. He can hardly refrain from buying her trinkets and nonsense, but he will not have her subjected to hostile criticisms, and he is not sure his judgment is to be trusted. He would doubtless flounder among the proprieties.