“Oh, did you know that we shall have no more sittings now for our portraits?” she cried. “Mr. Gay has just left here--perhaps you met him going out? He came to tell me that he is summoned to Europe by the illness of his father.” Not a break in the sweet clear voice; so well did she play her part of indifference towards the lover for whom she secretly grieved. No one must guess that, lest she lose the chance of winning new victims. Professor Desha thought, indignantly: “How heartless--and how beautiful!” Aloud he answered, deliberately: “I am very sorry for Florian. I met him going away. Until he told me about his father I believed from his woe-begone face that you had given him his _congé_.” It was almost a point-blank question, so intently did his large, honest blue eyes search her face, making her blush up to the edges of her wavy dark hair, while the long fringe of her lashes swept the rich damask of her cheek as she cried, with a forced, uneasy laugh: “You do me injustice indeed. I was very sorry to have him go away. We are great friends, Florian and I, and I’m afraid I am going to miss him very much.” Her candor only made him more certain of his conclusions. He felt quite positive that Florian had been refused, hence his pallor and dejection, and her gay indifference. There was no pensive cast on her white brow, such as one wears for the parting from a dear friend. But he could not pursue the subject any further, so he stated the object of his call. His cousin, Mrs. Wellford, wished to have her join a skating-party the next morning, the party to lunch with her afterward. Would she come? Viola thought of her lovely new skating suit, rich violet velvet trimmed with Russian sable, and rejoiced in her heart at such an opportunity to display it; but she cast down her eyes demurely, and appeared to reflect until he added, encouragingly: “I will call for you at ten o’clock if you will permit me.” “Thank you, I shall be glad,” she replied, frankly; and then he hurried away, almost frightened at himself for having impulsively offered her his escort, and half pleased, half repentant. CHAPTER IV. “AND THOU WERT GAY, THOUGH I WAS NOT WITH THEE!” Go--strive the sea wave to control; Or, wouldst thou keep me thine, Be thou all being to my soul, And fill each want divine; Play every string in Love’s sweet lyre, Set all its music flowing; Be air, and dew, and light, and fire, To keep the soul-flower growing; Be less--thou art no love of mine, So leave my love in peace; ’Tis helpless woman’s right divine-- Her only right--caprice! --_Osgood._ Viola did not lose much sleep over Florian’s going that night, for a pleasant excitement had been mixed with her thoughts by Philip Desha’s unexpected call, and her engagement with him for tomorrow. She thought, mischievously: