“It is dull work painting from a photograph. I prefer living subjects when possible, and I have a great desire to copy your face for an ideal picture I mean to paint. Will you give me two sittings each week if I will promise to work all the intervening time on Mr. Maxwell’s portrait?” Mae dimpled and blushed and looked inquiringly at her cousin, Mrs. Graham, who said, decisively: “Yes, I will bring her twice a week for the sittings; and mind that you have Rolfe’s portrait commenced the next time we come.” When Mae’s letter went across the sea, telling all this, Viola smiled roguishly to herself at the success of the design she had formed against Florian the day she first took Mae to his studio. CHAPTER XXXIII. “Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed.” The portrait of Rolfe Maxwell was finished, and awaited Viola’s return. It hung upon Florian’s studio wall--a magnificent likeness of the handsome, dark-eyed original that would delight Viola’s tender heart. Florian himself had written to tell her how well he had succeeded in his undertaking, and how anxious he was to hear her verdict of well done. The young widow had written promptly, expressing her fervent gratitude, and gracefully offering the most liberal compensation. Florian had quite as gracefully disclaimed the intention of receiving any reward for his work, save the longed for guerdon of her forgiveness for the madness of an hour that he would willingly lay down his life to recall. Could Viola find this forgiveness in her heart? In reply came the most charming letter. Was it possible her dear friend could think she harbored malice for that fatal night? No, no; she had deserved it all, and more, and accepted her punishment in all humility. He and Philip Desha had both taught her a lesson for which she was profoundly grateful. She was a changed girl now, and had firmly resolved never to flirt again. She hoped Florian would forget the past, just as she was trying to do. When Florian replied, thanking her ardently for her forgiveness, and vaguely hinting at a continuance of the correspondence, she did not answer, and it carried a bitter pang to his heart; but he determined to bide his time in patience. No doubt she wished to spend the year of widowhood in proper seclusion. But that was months and months ago, and Viola still lingered abroad, although Christmas had come and gone, and it was 1897 now, so that in a very short time she would have been widowed a year. Of course Desha would be making up to her again then, and Florian determined to get ahead of him if possible. He was tempted to take a little run over to Europe and try his fate again, but when he hinted of such a possible trip to his mother, she opposed it so strenuously, alleging her weak health and loneliness, that he gave up the idea, and wrote instead to Viola, pouring out all his hopes and fears, and again laying heart and hand at her feet.