They were about to pass each other with slight, cold bows, in spite of the fierce throbbing of either heart, when fate, in the person of Mrs. Herman, intervened. The old lady who had all the graceful cordiality of the Virginia gentlewoman, started forward eagerly, exclaiming: “How do you do, my dear professor? I am so glad to have this opportunity to congratulate you on your eloquent speech which I enjoyed so much.” He had to stop, perforce, for a short chat with them, and then he observed in Viola a subtle, indefinable change, a gentle reserve, a dignified coldness, that somehow aroused in him a distinct pique. “She resents my pointed neglect. Perhaps, after all, I carried it too far,” he thought, with some embarrassment, almost wishing for her old cordial vivacity. “I have not seen you in an age. Have you abjured society?” continued Mrs. Herman. “Almost,” he replied; adding: “We congressmen are here to work for our country’s good, not to enjoy ourselves, you know, dear madame.” She insisted that he should look in for an hour, at least, at her next reception, and it would have been churlish to refuse. He promised to come if he could spare the time, handed them to their carriage, and bowed himself away. And he could think of nothing else all day but Viola. How graceful she had appeared in her pose of unbending dignity, with that slight air of _ennui_, or _hauteur_, he could scarcely tell which! How rich was the bloom of her dimpled cheek against the high collar of her seal-skin wrap, how dark and serious her eyes had appeared through her thin veil, how exquisite the crimson of her full lips! Every separate charm recurred to him over and over, carrying his heart again by storm. And with a grim smile, he said to himself: “I think I understand her change from girlish vivacity to that quiet, graceful, natural dignity. She has given over the attempt to coquet with me, to break my heart, as she once threatened. She has found out that she cannot move me, and given over the effort. I shall be quite safe to attend her reception, since she has grown so cold and indifferent.” CHAPTER XI. TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF. So when the evening of the Van Lew reception arrived, the young congressman ventured to go, deeming unwisely that security for himself lay in Viola’s indifference. He was a very clever politician, but a mere tyro in matters of the heart. Viola and her aunt were receiving, assisted by a bevy of handsome matrons and fair young girls. When she saw Desha bowing before her, she gave him a courteous welcome, just tinged with the delicate frostiness under which he had shivered that day at the Capitol. It was superb acting, for her heart leaped wildly at the conventional touch of his hand. But she said proudly to herself: “He shall not know I am glad he came.”