"Mrs. Grandon was--I _do_ think she was cross," says Jane. "Miss Cecil said she would wait for her mamma, and Mrs. Grandon said----" Jane hesitates.
"Isn"t it your house, papa? Grandmamma shook me because I said so," and Cecil glances up defiantly.
"What did Mrs. Grandon say?" he asks, quietly, of Jane; for intensely as he dislikes servants" gossip, he will know what provocation was given to his child.
"She said that Miss Cecil wasn"t mistress here nor any one else, and that she would not have dinner kept waiting for people who chose to be continually on the go. She took Miss Cecil"s hand, and the child jerked away, and she scolded, and Miss Cecil said that about the house."
"Very well, I understand all that is necessary." He has not the heart to scold Cecil, the one being in the house devoted to Violet, and looks at her with sad eyes as he says,--
"Mamma has had a bad fall, and is ill in bed. You must be a good girl to-night and not make trouble for Jane."
"Oh, let me go to her!" Cecil is down from her dainty table, clinging to her father. "Let me go, I will be so good and quiet, and not tease her for stories, but just smooth her pretty hair as I did when her head ached. Oh, you will let me go?"
He raises her in his arms and kisses the rosy, beseeching lips, while the earnest heart beats against his own. "My darling," there is a little tremble in his voice, "my dear darling, I cannot take you to-night, but if you will be brave and quiet you shall go to-morrow.
See if you cannot earn the indulgence, and not give papa any trouble, because you love him."
A long, quivering breath and dropping tears answer him. He is much moved by her effort and comforts her, puts her back in her chair, and utters a tender good night. Gertrude waylays him in the hall for a second a.s.surance that matters are not serious with Violet, and sends her love. He sees no one else, and goes out in the darkness with a step that rings on the walk. It seems to him that he has never been so angry in all his life, and never so helpless.
"She has had her tea and fallen asleep," announces Denise, in a low tone, as if loud talking was not permissible, even at the kitchen door.
"I think the powder was an anodyne. There is another for her in the night if she is restless."
He goes up over the winding stairs with a curious sensation. She lies there asleep, one arm thrown partly over her head, the soft white sleeve framing in the fair hair that glitters as if powdered with diamond-dust. The face is so piquant, so brave, daring, seductive, with its dimples and its smiling mouth, albeit rather pale. His stern, tense look softens. She is sweet enough for any man to love: she has ten times the sense of Marcia, the strength and spirit of Gertrude, and none of the selfishness of Laura. She is pretty, too, the kind of prettiness that does not awe or stir deeply or _command_ worship. What is it--and an old couplet half evades him--
"A creature not too bright and good For human nature"s daily food."
That just expresses her. What with the writing and the business, he has had so little time for her, but henceforth she shall be his delight. He will devote himself to her pleasure. Proper or not, she shall go to the city and see the gayety, hear concerts and operas and plays, even if they have to go in disguise. But how to give her her true position at home puzzles him sorely. He had meant to introduce her at these coming parties, but of course that is quite out of the question.
Denise comes up presently, the kindly friend, the respectful domestic, and takes a low seat when Mr. Grandon insists upon her remaining awhile. Something in her curious Old World reverence always touches him. He asks about Violet"s childhood, whatever she remembers. The mother she never saw; but she has been with the St. Vincents thirteen years. They lived in Quebec for more than half that time; then Mr. St.
Vincent was abroad for two years, and Miss Violet went to the convent.
Denise is a faithful Romanist, but she has always honored her master"s faith,--perhaps because he has been so generous to hers.
There is some tea on the kitchen stove keeping warm, she tells him with her good night, some biscuits and crackers, and a bottle of wine, if he likes better. Then he is left alone, and presently the great clock in the hall tells off slowly and reverently the midnight hour.
Violet stirs and opens her eyes. There is a light, and Mr. Grandon is sitting here. What does it all mean? Her face flushes and she gives a sudden start, half rising, and then drops back on the pillow, many shades paler.
"I know now," she cries. "You came back to stay with me?"
There is a thrill of exultant joy in her tone. Does such a simple act of duty give her pleasure, gratify her to the very soul? He is touched, flattered, and then almost pained.
"You do not suppose I would leave you alone all night, my little Violet?"
"It was good of you to come," she insists. "But are you going to sit up? I am not really ill."
"Your back hurt you, though, when you stirred. I saw it in your face."
"It hurt only a little. I shall have to keep quiet, now," with a bright smile.
"And your ankle must be bathed. I should have done it before but you were sleeping so sweetly. Does your head ache, or is there any pain?"
"Only that in my back; but when I am still it goes away. My ankle feels so tight. If the bandage could be loosened----"
"I think it best not." Then he bathes it with the gentlest handling, until the thick layers have been penetrated. Will she have anything to eat or to drink? Had she better take the second powder?
"Not unless I am restless, and I am not--very, am I?" with a soft little inquiry.
"Not at all, I think," holding her wrist attentively.
"Are you going to sit up all night?" she asks.
"I am going to sit here awhile and put my head on your pillow, so, unless you send me away."
"Send you away!" she echoes, in a tone that confesses unwittingly how glad she is to have him.
Her hand is still in his, and he buries it in his soft beard, or bites the fingers playfully. Her warm cheek is against his on the pillow, and he can feel the flush come and go, the curious little heat that bespeaks agitation. It is an odd, new knowledge, pleasing withal, and though he is in some doubt about the wisdom, he hates even to move.
"You are quite sure you are comfortable?" he asks again.
"Oh, delightful!" There is a lingering cadence in her voice, as if there might be more to say if she dared.
"You must go to sleep again, like a good child," he counsels, with a sense of duty uppermost.
She breathes very regularly, but she is awake long after he fancies her oblivious. She feels the kisses on her cheek and on her prisoned fingers, and is very, very happy, so happy that the pain in her ankle is as nothing to bear.
Dr. Hendricks makes a very good report in the morning. The patient"s back has been strained, and the ankle is bad enough, but good care will soon overcome that. She must lie perfectly still for several days.
"When can she be moved?" Mr. Grandon asks.
"Moved? Why, she can"t be moved at all! She is better off here than she would be with a crowd around her bothering and wanting to wait on her, as mothers and sisters invariably do," with a half-laughing nod at Grandon. "Her back must get perfectly strong before she even sits up.
The diseases and accidents of life are not half as bad as the under or over care, often most injudicious."
"Oh, do let me stay!" pleads Violet, with large, soft, beseeching eyes.
He has been planning how she shall be honored and cared for in her own home, and does not like to yield. To have her out of the way here will gratify all the others too much.
"Of course you will stay," the doctor says. "When a woman promises to obey at the marriage altar, there is always an exception in the case of that privileged and tyrannical person, the doctor."
Violet smiles, and is glad of the tyranny.
"She may see one or two guests and have a book to read, but she is not to sit up."
The guest to-day is Cecil, but Denise makes the kitchen so altogether attractive that Cecil"s heart is very much divided. Mr. Grandon spends part of the afternoon reading aloud, but his mellow, finely modulated voice is so charming that Violet quite forgets the subject in the delight of listening to him. Cecil would fain stay and wishes they could all live with Denise.
Yes, there could be more real happiness in that little nest than in the great house. Aunt Marcia"s gift has not brought him very good luck, even from the first.
CHAPTER XVI.