“It is only a suggestion, mind. You are not obliged to take my advice. Suppose you married some other man tonight, and get a paragraph into the morning papers making it appear you eloped with a favored suitor and left Desha in the lurch.” “Oh!” she cried, impulsively again; and he continued: “There would be no one to contradict this story, because Desha and Gay would surely be ashamed to confess their dastardly share in driving you to desperation. Thus your pride would be saved, and no one the wiser, your reputation for coquetry making it easy for the public to accept the story.” Viola’s laugh rang out hysterically. “Capital! How clever you are, Mr. Maxwell!” “Then you like the idea of my little _coup d’état_?” “Immensely!” she cried, recklessly. “But a man will be necessary to our success. Where shall we find him?” Was it a daring challenge that rang in her voice? His heart leaped wildly against her arm, and then he asked, in a thick, agitated voice: “How would young George Merrington suit you, Miss Van Lew?” “Why, he is only a lovesick boy! Besides, I could not go and ask him to marry me! I have been refused by two men already tonight, and am discouraged with my luck!” Viola answered, petulantly. There was silence between them for a few minutes; then he murmured, low and hesitatingly: “There are others, Miss Van Lew.” “You mean--” she said, catching her breath with a sort of gasp of surprise; and he answered, passionately: “My heart is at your feet!” CHAPTER XX. “WAS EVER MAIDEN IN THIS HUMOR WOOED?” “I have heard--or dreamed it, maybe-- What love is when true; How to test and how to try it Is the gift of few. Only a true heart can find it, True as it is true; Only eyes so clear and tender Look it through and through. “I have seen a love whose patience Never turned aside, Full of tender, fond devices, Constant even when tried. Tell me, then, do you dare offer This true love to me? Neither you nor I can answer; We will--wait and see.” Viola’s heart throbbed strangely as she caught the meaning of her companion’s passionate speech, but to save her life she could not utter a word. She was overpowered by a sudden bashfulness, as if she had provoked the declaration by too eager encouragement. In the gloom of the night she felt her cheeks burn like fire. Rolfe Maxwell remained silent too for a moment, as if startled at his own presumptuousness, then, seeing she would not speak, continued vehemently: “Am I too bold? Believe me, I love you ardently, but I should never have dared to tell you so, only--only--to help you, if you so choose, out of the--difficulty--which troubles you so greatly. I am poor, and I have nothing to offer you but a true heart and an untarnished name. But if you will marry me, Viola--may I call you that?--I will toil as never man toiled before to win fame and fortune for my darling.”