_ CHAPTER XXII
"Love and hay are thick sown, but come up full of thistles."
Mrs. Floyd Grandon is considered fairly in society, and the world decides there is nothing detrimental about her. She is admitted to be pretty, she is well-bred, with some little touches of formalism, due to her training, that are really refreshing to elderly people, and sit quaintly upon her. She is charming, both when her natural vivacity crops out, that has been so repressed, and when she is shyly diffident. Cards and invitations are left for her, and Grandon Park blossoms out into unwonted gayety. The people who go away find no difficulty in renting their houses to those who want to come; perhaps the Latimers have given the impetus, for Mrs. Latimer is one of those women who are always quoted, without having any special desire to achieve a society reputation. The cottage frequently has some visitors of note: its smallness renders large companies impossible.
There is the usual lawn tennis, and croquet, which is rather falling into desuetude, but still affords unequalled opportunities for flirtation. There is boating, and the river looks quite gay with boats with striped and colored awnings to protect the fair ones from the sun. Grandon and Latimer are famous oarsmen, and often gather an admiring audience which gets greatly excited over the victorious champion, though honors keep evenly divided. Then there are garden parties and musical evenings, so there is no lack of amusement.
Violet has become quite an expert driver, and she and her pretty step-daughter, who keep up their adoration of each other, make a lovely picture in the basket phaeton. She rides on horseback very well, and here Eugene is always at her service. In fact, though he never
quite confesses it, he lets her fancy that he is an unfortunate moth who has been drawn into the flame when he would not have flown of his own account and desire. He is the kind of masculine who must always be dear to
some woman, who floats on the strongest current of fascination or sympathy. It has been the former, it is now the latter. The many frank allurements of youth in Violet charm him insensibly. She has a secret sympathy and a curious misgiving that she cannot overcome,--it grows upon her, indeed,--that Madame Lepelletier is dangerous to man and woman.
Had madame more personal vanity in her conquests, she might feel piqued at the defection of her knight, who has not wavered in his allegiance for the last year. She is rather pleased than otherwise, she even breathes little bits of encouragement and commendation to Violet, as if seconding her efforts; and Violet falls into the mistake that many have made before her, of comforting a young man and assisting him to overlive his fancy for another woman, as well as secretly blaming the other. Eugene is so fond of shifting burthens upon other people.
Laura and Mr. Delancy go abroad. Mrs. Grandon accepts several invitations for summer visits. She is less the head of the house now that her daughters are married and away, but she does not abate one jot of her dignity, and is secretly mortified to see Eugene so ready to treat with the enemy, as she still considers her.
Mrs. Jasper Wilmarth is at the summit of delighted vanity. They cannot compete with Grandon Park, but they have taken a rambling old country house on the outskirts of Westbrook, and Marcia has certainly managed to accumulate no end of bizarre articles. The rooms are large and the ceilings low; there are corner fireplaces and high mantels, there are curtains and portieres and lambrequins, there are pictures and brackets and cabinets, easels with their "studies," and much
bric-a-brac. Jasper Wilmarth insists that the sleeping chamber and sitting-room shall be kept free from this "nonsense," as he calls it, and does not meddle his head about the rest. Indeed, he rather smiles to himself to see of what consequence his name has made her. He does not even object to being considered a hero of romance in her estimation, knowing her sieve-like nature, and that whatever is in must drip through somewhere. She adores him, she waits on him with a curious humility that is very flattering, while to the rest of the world she puts on rather lofty airs. They amuse him, and he sees with much inward scorn the respect paid her--for what, indeed? Was she not as wise and as attractive six mouths ago? Yet he means she shall have the respect and the honor. He will not be the rich man that he once dreamed of, but he has enough to afford her many indulgences. So when she makes a rather timid proposition for a party of some kind, he listens with attention as she skips over the ground and makes a jumble of festivities.
"I should choose the garden party," he says, briefly, for in his mind he considers it the prettiest for the expense and the most enjoyable. There is no velvet lawn, but there is the remnant of an orchard, and the old trees are still picturesque. They need not have the fuss of a regular supper, but refreshments out of doors, with quartet tables, for the evening will be warm and moonlight.
Marcia is delighted. The pony phaeton flies around briskly, and invitations are accepted on nearly every hand. Floyd Grandon would much prefer to decline, but he cannot, without seeming churlish, and Violet takes it as a matter of course.
Is it a special Providence that interferes? That very morning an important telegram comes, and some one must go to Baltimore. It is not a matter he cares to have Wilmarth settle, and Eugene is not to be relied upon. He could take Violet, but it would look absurd this hot weather, and on such a hurried journey, when he has not hesitated to go alone before. Why should he be so reluctant to leave her, he wonders.
"It's just shabby!" declares Eugene. "Wait until to-morrow. Marcia will feel dreadfully put out if you are not there to-night."
"To-morrow would make it too late to see one of the parties, who is to go abroad." And he knits his brows.
"Well," says Eugene, "I'll take care of Violet to-night, though I can't hope to fill your place. But--I say, Floyd, do you mind if she waltzes with me?"
"Not if she cares to," is the answer, in a tone of reluctance that is quite lost upon the younger. He realizes that he has hardly courage for a direct prohibition when Eugene has just begun to show himself brotherly.
Violet is out driving with Cecil. He hurries up to the Latimers'. She has been there and gone, and there is no more time if he catches his train, and not to do it might be to lose immeasurably. But to go without a good-by to her or Cecil, and the old thought, the ghost that haunts every untoward parting, if he should never see them again, unmans him for an instant. What folly! Why, he is growing as fearful as a young lover.
He writes a brief farewell in pencil, and lays it on her table. She shall decide about the party herself, but he longs for a kiss, for one look into her lovely, untroubled eyes.
Violet does not return until luncheon is on the table. Eugene is looking out for her.
"Floyd had to go," he begins. "There was some important business, and he had to make a Baltimore connection, but he scoured the town to find you, and was awfully sorry."
It does not occur to Violet that there is anything unusual in his sudden departure, since it is not the first time he has gone with a very brief announcement. A thrill of satisfaction speeds through her at the thought of his wishing to find her, and she is truly very sorry that he should miss anything of the slightest consequence to him.
"I ought not have stayed," she says, with tender regret. "But I remembered I had promised to call on Miss Kirkbride, and I wanted to before I met her to-night. Oh----" and she pauses in vague questioning.
"That is all right. Floyd engaged me for your loyal knight and true," announces Eugene, in a confident tone, bowing ludicrously low.
Violet laughs, then a faint pink is added to the color in her cheek. It is like her husband's thoughtful ways.
"I am not sure I ought to go. Why, I have never been out without Mr. Grandon," she says, in alarm.
"Well, he has often been out without you," returns Eugene, with what he considers comforting frankness. "And then--it wouldn't do at all, you see. Mother is away, and there is not a single member of the family to do honor to Marcia, for if you remained at home I should stay to keep you company. And Marcia made a great point of our coming."
She has been pulling off her gloves, and now goes slowly up-stairs. Cecil has run on before and Jane is busy with her, but she calls eagerly as Violet passes through the hall. There lays the note on her table, a fond farewell to her and Cecil, a kiss to each, and regrets that he must go in such haste, but not a word about the party.
"I am all ready first," announces Cecil, coming in, attired in a fresh white dress.
"Yes, my darling. That is from papa," as she stoops and kisses her, "who has had to go away without a bit of good-by."
Cecil questions as to where he is gone, and why he went, and why he did not stay until after luncheon; and Violet explains patiently, recalling past times when the child has been almost inconsolable. She is so solaced by her message that she does not think of any other side.
Still, she is not quite satisfied to go without him to so large a gathering, and brings up half a dozen pretty reasons that Eugene combats and demolishes.
"And there will be dancing," she says.
"It would be stupid if there were not," the young man replies. "Such people as the Latimers and the Mavericks can talk forever, but Marcia hardly keeps up to concert pitch in a long harangue, and Wilmarth is not altogether a society man, though I must say he does uncommonly well as a benedict. And you can waltz, too. Floyd actually bestowed the privilege upon me," and he gives a light, flute-like laugh. Certainly when Eugene Grandon pleases he can bring out many delightful graces.
A little pang goes to her soul. Floyd Grandon has never been exclusive or in any sense jealous. Indeed, he has had such scant cause, but she wishes secretly that he had not been so ready to give away that enjoyment, and resolves that she will not waltz with Eugene.
"Come out and lie in the hammock," he says, after lunch. "It is shady, and there is a lovely breeze; you must take a siesta to look fresh and charming, and do honor to the Grandon name. How odd that there are only us two!" and he gives an amusing smile. "What a marrying off there has been since Floyd came home! Four brides in a year ought to be glory enough for one family."
Eugene should, by right, go over to the factory and answer a pile of letters, but instead, he throws himself on the grass, with an afghan under his head, and falls fast asleep. Violet drowses in her hammock and dreams away the happy hours. Only a little year ago. It runs through her mind like the lapping of the waves in the river.
They are a little late in reaching Mrs. Wilmarth's. It is an extremely picturesque sight, with seats rustic and bamboo, urns and stands of flowers, and moving figures in soft colors of flowing drapery. Some one is singing, and the sound floats outward to mingle with the summer air.
"Marcia certainly deserves credit," declares Eugene. "She is in her glory. She always did love to manage, and maybe she tries her arts upon Vulcan,--who knows."
"Mr. Wilmarth looks happy," says Violet, with gentle insistence.
"I suppose he is,--happy enough. But the marriage always has been a tremendous mystery to me. I should as soon have thought of the sky falling as Jasper Wilmarth marrying, and that he should take Marcia caps it all. I give it up," declares the young man.
"But Marcia is--I mean she has many nice ways," remarks Violet, as if deprecating harsher criticism.
"Well, for those who like her ways."
"You are not quite----" and Violet pauses.
"Generous or enthusiastic or any of the other womanish adjectives." Eugene pauses, for Marcia comes to meet them and Mr. Wilmarth stands on the porch.
"Well, you
have made your appearance at last!" begins Marcia, with an emphasis rendered more decisive from a remark uttered by her husband a few moments before.
"Yes, but you can be thankful that you have us at all," says Eugene, in a tone of lazy insolence. "We only came as representatives of the great family name whose dignity we are compelled to uphold in the absence of the august head of the house."
Jasper Wilmarth hears this and would like to knock down the young man.
"Where is Floyd?" asks Marcia, sharply.
"Gone to Europe," says Eugene, with charming mendacity.
"Oh," cries Violet, in consternation, "not Europe! It is Baltimore." And fearing Marcia will be hurt she adds quickly, "It was very important business."
"Well, some one else went or is going to Europe. He was in a panic for fear of missing a connection. And he left loads of regrets, didn't he, Violet?"
"He left all that word with you," replies the young wife, wondering in her secret soul if Floyd really meant her to come and why he did not speak of it in the note.
They are in the hall by this time. Eugene nods coolly to Wilmarth, and Violet speaks with a curious inflection, her thoughts are elsewhere, but Wilmarth's steel-gray eyes remark that without reading the motive.
"Where has your brother gone?" he asks of Eugene. "I was not aware of any urgent business when I saw him this morning."
"I dare say it is his own affairs. Some ruin-hunter is no doubt going to the East, and he wants to send for an old coin or a bit of stone with an inscription, or the missing link," and the young man laughs indolently.
Marcia is going up-stairs with Violet. "I think Floyd might have put off his journey until to-morrow," she says, in an offended tone. "He did not come to the dinner, either. Perhaps he thinks we are
not good enough, grand enough. You are quite sure you have not come against his wishes?"
Violet starts at this tirade, and if she had more courage would put on her hat again and walk out of the house.
"I am very sorry," she begins, but some one enters the dressing-room and she goes down presently to be warmly welcomed by several of the guests. Eugene constitutes himself her knight, and she feels very grateful. It is so strange to go in company without her husband; she can roam about the woods or drive her pony carriage and not feel lonely, but it seems quite solitary here, although she has met most of the people.
Eugene takes her arm and escorts her about. They are a charming young couple in their youth and beauty, and more than one person discerns the fitness. The business, too, would be of so much more account to Eugene, and he is in most need of a fortune. Jasper Wilmarth wonders if a time of regret will come to him.
Wafts of music float out on the summer night air. There is some dancing and much promenading. Marcia has a surprise in store, a series of tableaux arranged out of doors, with a pale rose light that renders them extremely effective, and they are warmly applauded. The guests sit at the tables and enjoy creams, ices, and salads: it is the perfection of a garden party. Marcia is in rather aesthetic attire, but it is becoming, and she is brimful of delight, though she wishes Floyd were here to see. She has a misgiving that he does not mean to rate Jasper Wilmarth very highly, and her wifely devotion resents it, for she is devoted. Jasper Wilmarth is both pleased and interested in the puppet he can move hither and thither to his liking, and occasionally to his service. He is gratified to see her party a success, though somewhat annoyed at the defection of his brother-in-law, who so far has not been his guest. He is piqued, too, about the sudden journey, and remembers now that a telegram came for him this morning. There is no business connection in Baltimore that need be made a secret, unless it is some secret of his own.
"There," exclaims Eugene, "a waltz at length! I began to think the ogre had forbidden so improper a proceeding. Now you are to waltz with me." And he rises, with her hand in his, but Violet keeps her seat.
"Why is waltzing considered improper?" she asks, slowly.
"Upon my life I don't know, unless, like the woman, you have to draw the line somewhere, and it is drawn at your relations or your husband. I have it--bright thought--it is to give
them some especial privileges that will rouse the envy of the rest of the world. For myself I think it a humbug. There are other dances quite as reprehensible when you come to that, but I've never come to harm in any," and he laughs. "And as for flirting, there are devices many and various; when you reach that point, Madame Lepelletier can do more with her eyes than any dozen girls I know could with their feet. Come."
"I think--I do not feel like it," replies Violet.
"Oh, don't wear the willow!" advises the young man. "You have just been up in one quadrille, and people will notice it. Besides, I was very particular to respect any lingering prejudice my august brother might have had."
"And he said you were to waltz with me?"
"Oh," he rejoins, in a kind of hurt tone, "you really do not suppose I would tell you a falsehood in this matter! I really do want to waltz with you, but I shouldn't descend to any such smallness as that."
She is touched by his air and disappointment.
"Well," she answers, reluctantly.
Just then madame floats by them. Violet rises, and they go gracefully down in the widening circles. Eugene waltzes to perfection. A few young girls look on with envious eyes, and something about Lucia Brade's face appeals to Violet. She
does carry her heart on her sleeve, and has always been fond of Eugene Grandon.
"Let us stop," entreats Violet.
"Why, we were just going so perfectly! It was like a dream. How beautifully you do waltz! What is the matter?"
All this is uttered in a breath.
"I want you to go waltz with Miss Brade," says Violet. "She looks so lonely talking to that old Mr. Carpenter."
"Nonsense." And he tries to swing her into line.
"No; I do not feel as if I had any business with the young men," says Violet, rather promptly, standing her ground with resolution.
"See here," exclaims Eugene, suddenly, "if I waltz with her, will you give me another somewhere? If you won't, I shall not dance another step to-night," and he shakes his black curls defiantly.
That means he will keep close to her as a shadow, and she wishes he would not.
"Yes," she answers, "if you will do your duty you shall be rewarded."
"Be good and you will be happy," he quotes.
"Take
me over to Mr. Carpenter."
"He will prose you to death. See, there is Mrs. Carpenter waltzing with Fred Kirkbride. That is the way young and pretty second wives enjoy themselves," says this candid young man.
Lucia Brade goes off supremely happy. Violet watches them from her rustic seat. She has been a little amazed at Lucia's evident preference, so plainly shown. Mr. Carpenter only needs a listener to render him supremely happy in his monologues, so Violet can follow her own thoughts.
She is wondering why she feels so lost and lonely in this bright scene, and why the waltz did not enchant her! Where is Mr. Grandon--drowsing in a railway car? If he were here! The very thought thrills her. Yes, it
is her husband she misses,--not quite as she used to miss him, either. He has grown so much more to her, he fills all the spaces of her life. He may be absent bodily, but he is in her soul, he has possession of her very being. Is this love?
A strange thrill runs over her. The lights, the dancing, the talk beside her, might all be leagues away. She is penetrated, possessed by a blissful knowledge, something deeper, finer, keener than she has ever dreamed, not simply the reverence and obedience of the marriage vow that she has supposed included all. And then comes another searching question,--how much of just this kind of love has Floyd Grandon for her?
The waltz has ended, and the lanciers begun. She will not dance that, but sends Eugene in quest of another partner, at which he grumbles. The Latimers are not here,--a sick baby has prevented,--though now Violet begins to feel quite at home with many of the dwellers in the park and about. Even madame searches her out presently.
"My dear child," she says, in that soft, suave tone, "are you not well this evening? You are such a little recluse."
"Quite well." And the brilliant face answers for her.
"Then you are not enjoying yourself. You young people ought to be up in every set."
"I did dance. But I like to look on. The figures are so graceful, and the music is bewitching."
"It seems unnatural for one of your age to be merely a spectator. How lovely Eugene and Mrs. Carpenter look together! She is just about your size and dances with the
verve of youth, which I admire extremely. Gravity at that age always seems far-fetched, put on as a sort of garment to hide something not quite frank or open, but it never can conceal the fact that it covers thoughts foreign to youth."
Violet wonders if she has been unduly grave this evening. She
has something to conceal, a sweet, sacred secret that only one person may inquire into. Will he, some day? He has never yet asked her the lover's question to which it would be so sweet to reply.
"There," exclaims Eugene, sitting down beside her, "I have done my duty. The very next waltz, remember."
The last is in a whisper, and it brings the bright color to her face, brighter because madame's eyes are upon her; but fortunately for her peace, madame is wanted.
"Do you know," says Eugene, "I am very glad you married Floyd, for I
do think it would have ended by his taking her; not that he cared particularly, and the queer thing was that Cecil would not make friends with her; but she is the kind of woman who generally gets everything she tries for. And I do believe she envies you your home and your husband."
"Oh!" cries Violet, much abashed, "do not say so. It seems to me there is nothing that she can envy or desire."
"Don't believe the half of that, little innocent! Oh, listen, this measure is perfection! Come."
She rises, for she cannot endure sitting here and discussing madame, and they all take so much for granted between her and Mr. Grandon.
The waltz is lovely out here in the summer moonlight. She forgets her discomfort in it, and is very happy; but when it ends she feels that her duty is done, that she would like to go home, and mentions her desire to Eugene.
"Why, yes, if you like," he answers. "If it had not been for you the whole thing would have bored me intolerably. Floyd may thank his stars for an excuse to keep away."
They make their adieus to host and hostess. Marcia tosses her head with a curt farewell.
But it has been a success. Doubtless many of the guests came from curiosity; but Mrs. Wilmarth is delighted to have had what would have been an enormous crush inside, and much elated to have it praised on every hand.
"But what idiots Violet and Eugene made of themselves," she says, in the privacy of her own room, when all is quiet and the old orchard is left to the weird dancing shadows of the moonlight, while the insect voices of the night keep up an accompaniment.
"Did they? I thought he was unusually modest and chary of his numerous graces," returns Jasper Wilmarth, with his usual sneer, which is nearly always lost upon Marcia, who has settled it as belonging to his way and not meaning anything.
"That is just what I complain of. They walked round or sat under trees like a couple of spooning lovers. I believe they did waltz once; and Violet did nothing but dance the night of her ball."
"I wonder," Jasper Wilmarth says, slowly, "if Eugene does not, or will not regret giving up the St. Vincent fortune."
"Giving up the fortune!" Marcia turns straight around, with a resemblance to Medusa, since her short, uneven hair stands out every way with the vigorous use of her magnetic brush. "How could he have had the St. Vincent fortune?"
Wilmarth is surprised. Is it possible that Marcia does not know? Have these two men kept the secret from the family?
"Why of course you are aware that it was offered to Eugene!" he answers, composedly.
"No, I am not," she replies, shortly. "Was it to marry Violet?"
He nods. "Yes, she seemed to go begging for a husband. I had the chance first, but I really fancied she was not more than fourteen or so, and I must wait for her to grow up. But St. Vincent was in a hurry, for I suppose he knew his days were numbered, and when Eugene declined--well, no doubt he offered her and her fortune to your brother Floyd, who was more shrewd than either of us."
Marcia drops in an easy-chair, quite astounded. It is true, the secret has been kept from her. Eugene had the grace to swear Laura and madame to secrecy; and Marcia not being at home when Mrs. Grandon became possessor of it, a little fear of Floyd kept her from confiding it to this untrustworthy member of the family.
"And you would have married her?" cries Marcia, jealously.
"The fortune might have tempted me. I will not pretend to a higher state of grace than your brother, and you know up to that time you had taken no pains to render yourself attractive to me. See how soon I succumbed."
"You delightful old Vulcan!" And Marcia flies across the room to shower kisses on her husband, convinced that she might have had him long before if she had only smiled upon him.
"What a cheat Floyd was!" she declares, "making believe he fell in love with Violet because she saved Cecil. But--the fortune was not certain?"
"I should have made it certain as well as your brother," says Wilmarth. "But if Eugene repents and falls in love with the pretty little thing, there will be a nice row."
"And it does look like it," declares Marcia, who is delighted to ferret out unorthodox loves. "I mean to watch them."
"Do no such thing," he commands. "Eugene will not be very hard hit, and your brother is quite capable of taking care of his wife. They are like two children, but it
is a pity Eugene had not been wiser. If your brother had only waited until Eugene had met Miss St. Vincent. The hurry in this matter always did surprise me a little. But I forbid you ever breathing a word to your brother. You see what a foolish husband I am to trust you with secrets," and he laughs.
"No, you are not foolish. Of course I should never speak of it to Floyd," she says, reflectively. She would never have the courage.
"Well, that is all right," patronizingly. "I dare say the rest know it. It was because you were not in their confidence."
That remark nettles Marcia, and she secretly resolves to find out, as Jasper Wilmarth is quite certain that she will. He has spoken of this with a purpose, not simply in foolish marital confidence. He believes Violet Grandon is very much in love with her husband, and he does not care who gives her the stab. It is this adoration that adds fuel to his hatred of Floyd Grandon. _