“Then I will tell you, Viola, that I learned last night a dreadful truth about my dear little daughter whom I believed to be so good and pretty and tender-hearted. I learned that she is a heartless girl guilty of sin in the sight of God, although there is no earthly law to punish her for her folly.” “Papa!” she gasped in horror, going deathly white with indignation, two pearly tears flashing into her great luminous gray eyes, almost black now with excitement. “Papa, who has slandered me to you? Who dares accuse me of anything wrong?” She almost fainted when he answered, sternly and rebukingly: “You thoughtless child, it is only the mercy of God that has saved a lost soul from being your accuser this moment at the bar of Heaven!” Viola’s wonder and amazement only increased at this terrible charge from her father’s lips. She felt herself sinking, almost fainting, as he caught her hand, looking anxiously into her face. In a few minutes she recovered herself, and sighed fearfully: “I do not understand, papa.” “You have heard nothing?” he exclaimed. “Nothing, papa,” wildly. “Then prepare yourself for a great shock, Viola, for surely you can not be as heartless as the world believes you.” “Oh, no, papa!” she cried, eagerly, wondering if he had found out her secret engagement to Florian, and was going to scold her for it. It was something like that, she discovered the next moment, for he added: “You were at Mrs. Dean’s reception last night, and a young government clerk, George Merrington, proposed to you.” Viola’s eyes dilated with wonder, but she answered, eagerly: “Yes, papa, but--I refused him.” To her amazement, he asked, angrily: “What right had you, Viola, to refuse him?” “Why, papa, what a question! I had a right because I did not love him!” cried Viola, gaining courage again. “You did not love him, you say, Viola; then why did you lead him to believe that you did? Why did you flirt with the poor young fellow till he felt sure of you, and ventured to lay his honest heart at your feet?” angrily. “Papa, no man has a right to be sure of a woman’s heart until he has asked for it and been answered,” she replied, uneasily, seeing that he was in deadly earnest. “You are wrong,” he answered, earnestly. “A true man and woman, when truly in love, may always be sure of each other. The woman may always show her preference without brushing the bloom from her modesty. All honor to her for doing so, and everlasting shame for pretending what she does not feel for the poor triumph of rejecting him at the last.” Judge Van Lew’s scathing words sank into his daughter’s soul, and she hid her burning face in her hands, trying to stem the torrent of his reproaches by faltering: