He excited her interest by his own astonishing indifference, and she had many speculations over it, always ending by the explanation that very likely he had a sweetheart in the State he had come from up North--“some goody-goody nonentity like himself.” She was rather vexed that Florian was fond of him, and was going to paint his portrait, for she might have to meet him at the studio sometimes. Well, she would find out the days he was to come, and stay away herself at those hours. So her bow, when they passed each other on the steps, was even more cold and uplifted than usual. “He shall see how little I care for him,” she thought, with a pride that sent the hot blood mantling warmly to her cheek. She stepped quickly into the carriage, and gentle old Aunt Edwina said: “What a noble face and head Professor Desha has! Don’t you admire him, Viola?” “No, not at all,” the young girl answered, huffily. But in spite of her resolve not to meet her _bête noire_ at the studio again, she encountered him there twice the next week. It was all by the merest chance, for how was she to know what hour he chose for his sittings? On both of these occasions Viola had perforce to make herself agreeable to the young congressman, for she did not like to offend Florian by a contrary course. So she remained a short while on each call, and she pretended a simple friendliness with Professor Desha. He had to acknowledge to himself that she was fascinating, yet he could not say that he had observed the least coquetry in her manner, the least effort to win his admiration. Perhaps, he said to himself, she did not consider him worth her while. He knew that Florian Gay’s heart was at her feet, and supposed that this would afford her sufficient present amusement. Yet he looked forward with secret pleasure to meeting her again at the studio. How beautiful she had looked in the rich artistic room, and how much more womanly and sweet she had appeared than when in social circles surrounded by the inevitable group of admirers! But he did not meet her at the studio again. The sittings for the portraits came to an abrupt end. Florian Gay came unexpectedly one day to call upon his betrothed. He was pale and agitated. She saw at once that he had received bad news. A cablegram from his aged mother had conveyed the news that his father had suffered a stroke of paralysis at Carlsbad Springs, whither he had gone a few months previous for his health. They had anxiously desired to have Florian accompany them, but his passion for Viola had made him refuse. He could not tear himself away from the land that held his idol. He remained, and was rewarded by Viola’s acceptance of his suit.