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Melton had stormed at Lydia one sunny day in spring, finding her bent over her desk, addressing invitations. "It's April, child!" he cried, "April! The crocuses are out and the violets are almost here and, what is more important, your day of trial gets closer with every tick of the clock. Come outdoors and take a walk with me." "Oh, I can't!"
"I could never believe any one in this world was true or pure again if I thought for one moment deceit lay brooding in a face so fair as little Daisy Brooks's." The months flew quickly by; the cold winter had slipped away, and the bright green grass and early violets were sprinkling the distant hill-slopes.
Paul worked bravely and strove to cheer his father; and Violette, with her bright, quick eyes, just a little like Marie's, would come down and sing to him, and bring him cool, pink, dew-bathed roses. He thanked them all; but their love was not sufficient. His heart was across the prairies by a grave upon which the violets were growing. Before the leaves fell he was lying by her side.
Every opening blossom was a new revelation, and their sweet perfume stole into her wounded heart like balm. The blue violets seemed like children's eyes peeping timidly at her; and the pansies looked so bright and saucy that she caught herself smiling back at them. The little black and brown seeds she planted came up so promptly that it seemed as if they wanted to see her as much as she did them.
On the other hand, the senior apprentice, with his long legs, his chestnut hair, his big hands and powerful frame, had found a secret admirer in Mademoiselle Virginie, who, in spite of her dower of fifty thousand crowns, had as yet no suitor. Nothing could be more natural than these two passions at cross-purposes, born in the silence of the dingy shop, as violets bloom in the depths of a wood.
They were like violets made vile by the very light that was designed to make them lovely. Mr. Tryan, Mr. Jerome and Mrs. Pettifer, on the other hand, opened their hearts to the love of God as the rose opens its petals to the light of the sun. Their religion was a revelry to them.
He drew his chair near mine, facing me, after a fashion he has, and looked at me in silence for a minute. "You are tired," he said. "A little. The rooms were very warm." "They were. They made the violets droop, I see." I put up my hand. "Yes. I meant to take them off." "Perhaps you don't like violets.
She moved on, always with the soft rustle, leaving behind her a delicate whiff of violets and a wide-eyed clergyman, who stared after her admiringly. "What a beautiful woman!" he said. There was a faint regret in his voice that Audrey had not presented him, and he did not see that her coffee-cup trembled as she lifted it to her lips.
He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat divided between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all right. "Why! You are in grey!" he said. "Help me up." Once on his feet he gave himself a shake. "What business had I to go off like that!" And he moved very slowly to the glass. What a cadaverous chap!
"Have a rarebit, Purple," advised Wrinkles, "and never mind those maniacs." "Well, what is this business about two violets?" "Oh, it's just some dream. They gibber at anything." "I think I know," said Florinda, nodding. "It is something that concerns Billie Hawker." Grief and Pennoyer scoffed, and Wrinkles said: "You know nothing about it, Splutter. It doesn't concern Billie Hawker at all."
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