Yes, it made Mrs. Maxwell much happier to understand that Viola had really cared for Rolfe. She did not deny it, and her heart warmed to the sorrowful young widow. “We must always be dear friends now. Will you both come and see me sometimes?” said Viola. But Mrs. Maxwell’s face hardened as she answered: “We could not come under the roof of the man who wronged Rolfe and sent him away so unhappy to his untimely death, dear Viola. Why, only think, my daughter; if he had permitted your husband an interview with you that night, you two might have come to an understanding, and he might never have gone away. I hope I am a good Christian, but I am not able to forgive your father yet for his sin.” Viola could not blame her for her bitterness, since her own heart was hot with anger against the author of her woe. “You are right; but I shall come and see you often, and you shall tell me stories of Rolfe. I shall want to hear all about him from his very babyhood,” she said, earnestly; adding, with a sudden blush: “And I wish above all things for a good picture of him. Can you give me one?” “Gladly,” was the answer; and an album was brought out containing pictures of Rolfe from infancy to manhood. Amid raining tears Viola made a selection, then rose to go, begging Mae to accompany her for a short drive. The young girl hesitated, then looked inquiringly at her aunt. “Go, dear; it will do you good,” Mrs. Maxwell answered, encouragingly, for Viola’s fascination had already fallen over both. She was queen of hearts still, in all her woe. Mae hurried to her chamber, and quickly returned in a dark-blue gown wondrously becoming to her delicate blonde beauty and the rich sheen of her golden hair under the nodding black plumes of her hat. “How lovely you are, sweet cousin!” cried Viola, wondering how Rolfe’s heart had been proof against such beauty and sweetness. Kissing Mrs. Maxwell a loving adieu, Viola returned to the carriage with lovely Mae, and gave the order: “Drive at once to the studio of Mr. Florian Gay.” CHAPTER XXIX. ALIENATION. How sad it is to see the waning of a beautiful friendship between two noble hearts--friendship that should have lasted unbroken till death--to see the cold blight of alienation creeping in between those hearts day by day, till naught is left of those old, sweet emotions but the sadness of memory more cruel than forgetfulness. Philip Desha and Florian Gay would never be such fond friends again as they had been before the love of a beautiful coquette came so fatally between their hearts. It was true that Desha had not been lacking in outward observances such as were demanded by Florian’s bereavement. He had made the usual visit of condolence, attended the funeral of the elder Gay, and showed no lack of sympathy, but all the same there kept widening between them the restraint engendered by the knowledge that they had been unconscious rivals for the same lovely prize.