Viola’s sweet promises set all his fears at rest, and he hastened to avail himself of her permission to speak to her father. Judge Van Lew gave a surprised and secretly reluctant consent. It was not a pleasant thought for the ambitious father that his charming daughter, who had refused millionaires and men of the highest rank, should descend to a simple congressman who had not won his laurels yet, and was only moderately rich. But he knew that Desha was well-born, high-minded, and intelligent. If Viola loved him and wanted him, there was really no valid objection he could raise, so he gave his cold approval. Then the eager lover startled Viola very much by asking her if she would set the wedding for March. “But it is the last of January now. I should have but one month to get ready,” she cried, blushingly; but, with a little urging, she consented. Perhaps they were mutually afraid of losing each other, Desha dreading her coquetry, she afraid he might find out the secrets she was hiding from him. When she had given her consent, he said, seriously: “We ought to take the public into our confidence now.” “They do not deserve it; they have gossiped about me too much already,” Viola pouted, prettily. He remained silent, thinking her very unreasonable, and then she smiled at his gravity, saying, coaxingly: “Well, then, I want to give them a grand sensation. What do you say to keeping our secret until we send out our wedding-cards? Will not that give everybody a great surprise?” laughingly. “I should think so,” he replied. “Well, then, let us have it so. I have given up to you in everything else. Let me have my own way in this,” pleaded Viola so sweetly that he could not refuse, though he was eager to have the truth known so that people would stop referring to him as Miss Van Lew’s latest distinguished conquest. Most especially would he have liked to tell the real truth to his cousin, Mrs. Wellford, who badgered him not a little about his attentions to Viola. Her cousinly pride was up in arms for his sake, hating for his true heart to be played with and cast aside like others that she knew. “It is perfectly abominable!” she complained to her husband. “I thought Philip had more sense than to run after such a wicked little coquette.” “I thought you were fond of Viola,” he replied. “So I am--at least I used to be, till she began to entangle my cousin in her toils. But now I almost hate her, for Phil is too good and true to break his heart for her sake. She has bewitched him so that he has lost the use of his brains!” she replied, petulantly. “I do not see how you can help it,” he replied, thoughtfully. “That is what makes me so angry. I have warned him, and he treats my warnings with contempt. Oh, if I had my way I should like to make him draw back, even now, and foil her in her little game of adding his name to the list of one hundred rejections she is so busily making!” she exclaimed, excitedly.