CHAPTER X.
THEIR MEETING.
Viola sought her own apartments in a whirlwind of contending emotions, and threw herself upon a couch to sob and moan in passionate excitement.
Her father’s words and poor Merrington’s fate made her realize for the first time something of the enormity of what she had done.
She saw that her father was ashamed of her, and the pang cut deep, for she was proud of his love and his good opinion.
She remembered that Professor Desha had also expressed himself strongly against her flirtations.
Perhaps that was why he had withdrawn himself from her society, despising her for the same things that her father had so bitterly condemned.
Both of them she knew were high-minded men, and had a right to have their opinions respected.
Now that her folly and thoughtlessness had been shown her so plainly, Viola began to feel ashamed and remorseful over what had heretofore been her pride and delight.
“Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry!” she cried, remorsefully. “Indeed I did not realize that I was causing real pain to any one. But now I will never flirt again!”
While she was bathing her pink eyelids with eau-de-Cologne to remove the tell-tale trace of tears, Aunt Edwina came gliding in, and exclaimed:
“Oh, my dear, what is the matter? You have been crying!”
“Nonsense! I have taken a bad cold, that is all,” returned the young girl, unwilling for her aunt to learn what had happened.
“I am sorry for that, Viola, for I hoped you would feel like going with me to the Capitol this morning. I heard that there would be speaking in the House of Representatives today on the Cuban war, and I should like to hear it.”
Viola knew that she should spend a wretched day moping at home alone, so she answered quickly:
“I will go with you, auntie, for I would like to hear the speeches, too. I dare say it will not make my cold any worse.”
“Not if you wrap up warmly, dear, and wear a veil; so I will go and get ready,” returned the kind, unsuspecting old lady, hurrying out again.
Viola dabbled her face with the fragrant waters till all the signs of tears were gone; but she could not smile away the brooding sadness that lay beneath the dark fringe of her lashes—the sadness of trouble and remorse.
She dressed herself carefully in her warmest attire, for the midwinter days were very keen, and she and her aunt set forth for the Capitol, a little gleam of interest flashing into her eyes as she remembered that she was likely to see Philip Desha there.
It was six weeks since she had seen the young congressman. He seemed to have faded from her life, though not from her thoughts.
If Desha had wished to keep himself vividly in Viola’s memory he could not have adopted a better plan than this absence and reserve.
The angry pique that had caused her first interest in him only increased with time, and the smart of his coldness made her wish more ardently to win him, so strange are the contradictions of the human heart.
But pride forbade her seeking him, so she had let him pass passively from her life until today, when in her aunt’s company she sought the Capitol, knowing that she was almost certain to see him there, and feeling her heart leap wildly at the thought, while she said to herself:
“Oh, how clever it was in papa to get that dreadful case of George Merrington so nicely covered up, and how thankful I am that people will never know the real truth about it. I would not like for Professor Desha to find it out. How he would despise me!”
So it happened that as the young congressman was nearing the close of his brilliant speech that day, some magnetic influence made him raise his blue eyes to the crowded gallery and meet the rapt, intense gaze of Viola’s splendid, luminous gray orbs fixed on him with an eager interest that almost robbed him of the last iota of self-possession.
She saw him start and almost falter at the recognition, and wondered why it could move him so.
When he left the hall awhile later she lost all interest in the animated scene, and persuaded her aunt to leave also; but it was a great surprise to her as well as to him when they came together, face to face, in the corridor, owing to the delay caused by his spending a few moments talking in the lobby.
They were about to pass each other with slight, cold bows, in spite of the fierce throbbing of either heart, when fate, in the person of Mrs. Herman, intervened.
The old lady who had all the graceful cordiality of the Virginia gentlewoman, started forward eagerly, exclaiming:
“How do you do, my dear professor? I am so glad to have this opportunity to congratulate you on your eloquent speech which I enjoyed so much.”
He had to stop, perforce, for a short chat with them, and then he observed in Viola a subtle, indefinable change, a gentle reserve, a dignified coldness, that somehow aroused in him a distinct pique.
“She resents my pointed neglect. Perhaps, after all, I carried it too far,” he thought, with some embarrassment, almost wishing for her old cordial vivacity.
“I have not seen you in an age. Have you abjured society?” continued Mrs. Herman.
“Almost,” he replied; adding: “We congressmen are here to work for our country’s good, not to enjoy ourselves, you know, dear madame.”
She insisted that he should look in for an hour, at least, at her next reception, and it would have been churlish to refuse. He promised to come if he could spare the time, handed them to their carriage, and bowed himself away.
And he could think of nothing else all day but Viola.
How graceful she had appeared in her pose of unbending dignity, with that slight air of ennui, or hauteur, he could scarcely tell which! How rich was the bloom of her dimpled cheek against the high collar of her seal-skin wrap, how dark and serious her eyes had appeared through her thin veil, how exquisite the crimson of her full lips! Every separate charm recurred to him over and over, carrying his heart again by storm.
And with a grim smile, he said to himself:
“I think I understand her change from girlish vivacity to that quiet, graceful, natural dignity. She has given over the attempt to coquet with me, to break my heart, as she once threatened. She has found out that she cannot move me, and given over the effort. I shall be quite safe to attend her reception, since she has grown so cold and indifferent.”