“Forbid the thought,” he answered, quickly. “On my head fall all the obloquy. You can tell the world that we quarreled bitterly this evening, and that you refused to marry me. That will clear up everything. No one,” bitterly, “will discredit this new proof of Miss Van Lew’s fickleness and heartlessness and love of sensation.” He waited a moment for the silent, statue-like figure to speak, but from the tense white lips came not a word, either of blame or of entreaty, so with a slight, cold bow, Philip Desha passed from her presence out into the cold March night, as Florian Gay had done but a little while before, his heart as crushed and heavy as Florian’s own, but true to his high ideals of noble womanhood. * * * * * Viola did not move from her chair for fifteen minutes. She sat still as a statue, the only sign of life in her gleaming, dark eyes, where pride and despair alternately struggled for expression. It was the bitterest and most tragic hour her brilliant life had ever known. She had lost the prize she had risked so much to win--lost the love that was more to her than Heaven. He despised her now, had thrown her aside in scorn. Tomorrow the whole world would find it out, and mock at her misery, pointing the gibing finger of scorn at the young bride jilted at the altar. She rose at last, muttering four baleful words: “How I hate him!” Crossing to a desk, she caught up a pen and dashed off nervously a few incoherent words: “DEAR FLORIAN,--He--the man I was to marry--was in the next room, and heard all our conversation tonight. We quarreled bitterly, and--our engagement is broken off. There will be no wedding to-morrow, unless you will forgive me and take his place. Will you, Florian, to save me the notoriety of a broken-off marriage? Besides I hate him now--and it will be easy to teach me to love you again as I used to do. “Will you come at once and see me, dear Florian, or send a message by bearer? “Your repentant VIOLA.” Having dispatched the message by a safe bearer, she hastened to her room to remove as well as possible all traces of her terrible agitation. Florian should not know the real truth of the broken engagement. She would make him think that the sight of him had reawakened all the old love in her heart. Oh, yes, she would punish false, cruel Philip in the bitterest fashion! Pride enthroned itself in her heart. The messenger returned swiftly, but Florian did not come. He had sent a note, that she tore open with eager fingers: “MISS VAN LEW,--I decline with contempt the offer to fill a truant bridegroom’s place to-morrow. I have no doubt he has deserted you in disgust at learning your treachery to me, and I rejoice at your misfortune! “FLORIAN GAY.” CHAPTER XVIII.