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The supper-bell rang as Edward and Zoe descended the stairs together, and they obeyed its summons without going into the drawing-room. Violet's place at the table was vacant as well as that of Max, and Lulu and Gracie bore the traces of tears about their eyes.
"Yes, I will try," the child said, earnestly, as she again pressed her lips to Violet's hand. "Now, my pet, you will have to excuse us," said Mr. Lawrence, rising. "I have a few more arrangements to make with Miss Huntington, and we must not detain her longer." "I wish you did not need to go at all," Bertha said, wistfully.
Fifth avenue" proved to be a palatial residence, with the name Lawrence gleaming in silver letters upon the door, and Violet's heart sank a little as she mounted the marble steps, for she feared that she might not be competent to teach in an aristocratic family such as doubtless inhabited this elegant mansion.
He read his mamma into a slumber, his papa into a deep reverie, which resulted in his dragging himself up from his chair, by the help of the chimney-piece, and reaching pen and writing-case from Violet's table. 'Oh! papa! whispered Johnnie, in an injured tone, at not having been asked to do the little service.
She pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes, and a strong whiff of perfume greeted Violet's nostrils, telling a tale that sent a pang to her heart. Gracie was instantly conscious of it, as she, too, smelled the tell-tale perfume, and stole a glance at her young stepmother's face.
Here ended Violet's comfort. Albert was so much elated that she was afraid every moment of his doing something mal-a-propos. Theodora was resolved to be gracious, and make conversation, which so added to his self-satisfaction, that Violet's work was to repress his familiarity.
At times when Lord Cameron spoke of Violet's faithfulness to and love for him, of her despairing grief over his supposed death, and her reluctance to become the wife of another, his face would light up for an instant or grow tender with love, as his emotions moved him; but gradually, as the narrator drew near the end of his tale, he grew nervous and restless, the tense lines of pain settled again about his mouth, his eyes grew dark and moody in expression, while the spasmodic twitching of his nerves could be plainly seen by every one in the room.
There was nothing more said for some time, and then Violet asked: "Where is your brother now?" "He must be far across the country by this time. He was enjoying the trip very much when I left him." "And when will he be home?" "I don't know. Not for a good while yet. Why are you asking?" Frank raised himself up, and peered with his dim eyes into Violet's face. "Why are you asking?" he repeated.
Yet what he had said might have worked, had not a history of the circumstances of Violet's illness come round to her by way of Mrs. Nesbit.
Emma's bashfulness had been petted and promoted as unworldly, till now, like the holes in the philosopher's cloak, it was self-satisfaction instead of humility. This made the snare peculiarly dangerous, and her mother was so doubtful how far she would be guided, as to take no comfort from Violet's assurances that Mr.
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