“I can not tell how long I may be absent--not long, if I can help it--but of course it will depend on the duration of my father’s illness. Do not forget that I shall hope to resume the sittings for your portrait as soon as I return. Now, I must hurry away. Good-bye,” and he held out his hand. Professor Desha grasped it heartily with many expressions of sympathy and good will, and they parted thus in the cold air of December, not to meet again for several months, and then under the lowering shadow of tragic circumstances. Desha had seen his friend coming down the steps of the Van Lew mansion, and he had drawn his own conclusions. It did not seem to him that even the news of his father’s seizure was sufficient to bring that despairing look to Florian Gay’s handsome face. He said to himself: “He adored that beautiful coquette, and has long been hovering between hope and fear. Now he has put his fate to the test, and been rejected, poor fellow!” He was on his way to call on Viola himself, though he had not mentioned the fact to Florian in the haste of their parting. The pretext for the visit was to get Viola to join a skating-party tomorrow to consist of his cousin--a gay society dame--and some other beaus and belles, the latter of whom Professor Desha had been sent by the aforesaid cousin to interview on the subject of their willingness. He could not have explained to himself why he decided to call on Miss Van Lew first of all. He admired her beauty, to be sure, but he detested her coquetry, and a wave of indignation passed over him as he thought of how she had trifled with Florian’s heart, only to reject him in the end. “No doubt I shall find her as gay and smiling as if she did not realize at all that another broken heart lies at her door,” he thought, as he mounted the steps. Viola started with surprise when his card was brought up to her room. “Tell him I will be down immediately,” she exclaimed, hurrying to her mirror to remove the traces of the tears she had shed over Florian’s departure. Then she made a few effective additions to her already elegant morning toilet, saying to herself: “I must be quite gay, and not let any one suspect how my heart aches over Florian’s going. Dear fellow, how fondly he loves me, and how hard it was for him to leave me! I love him dearly, but I would not have our engagement known for the world, for then I would have to wear the willow all during his absence, and perhaps never get another offer. Dear me, I wonder who will be the next one? Suppose--only suppose--” She laughed saucily to herself, and the daring wish chased away every sad thought of Florian, so that she was quite radiant in her welcome of her visitor, and he could read no slightest sign of emotion on the sparkling, _riante_ face.