“Who is she?” demanded the Iron King.

“Miss Violet Wood, the ward of Chief Justice Pendletime.”

“You could not have made a wiser choice.  You have my full approval.  And the sooner you are married, the better I shall like it.”

Mr. Fabian bowed in silence.

“And you remember that we were planning to send a confidential agent to Europe to establish syndicates for our shares in the principal cities.  Now you can utilize your wedding tour by taking your bride to Europe and looking after this business in person.”

“Yes, of course,” assented Mr. Fabian.

“Other details may be thought of afterward.  You had better begin to call on the lady.  It is well to be the first in the market.”

“Of course, sir.”

This ended the conference.

Mr. Fabian groomed himself into as charming a toilet as a gentleman’s morning suit would admit.  He then set forth in his carriage and made the round of the three conservatories of which the town could boast before he could find a cluster of white wood violets to pin on the lapel of his coat.  He also got a splendid and fragrant bouquet, and armed with these fascinators he drove to the house of the chief justice and sent in his card.

The ladies were at home.  He was shown into the drawing room, where, oh! beneficence of fortune, he found his inamorata alone.

In a pale blue cashmere home dress trimmed with swan’s down and lace, she looked fairer, sweeter, daintier, more suggestive of a wood violet than ever.

She left her seat at the piano and came to meet him, saying simply: 

“Good morning, Mr. Rockharrt.  Mrs. Pendletime will be down presently.  She is not in good health, and so she slept late this morning after the ball.  Oh! what lovely, lovely flowers!  For me?  Oh! thank you so much, Mr. Rockharrt,” she added, as Mr. Fabian, with a deep bow and a sweet smile, presented his offering.

Mr. Fabian made good use of his time, and had advanced considerably in the good graces of his fair little love before the lady of the house entered.

Mrs. Chief Justice Pendletime greeted Mr. Fabian most graciously, inquiring after the health of his father.

A little small talk, a few compliments, and the delightful chat was broken into by the arrival of other callers, fine youths, admirers of Violet Wood and secret aspirants to her favor.  Even most amiable Mr. Fabian felt a strong desire to kick them all out of the drawing room, through the front door and into the street.

He made himself doubly agreeable to the beauty and her chaperon, and finally offered them a box at the opera for the next evening, and when it was accepted he at last took leave.