CHAPTER XV.
QUEEN OF SONG AND LOVE AND BEAUTY.
Viola’s wedding-cards came out just ten days before the time appointed for the ceremony, creating an immense sensation, just as she had prophesied.
Society was so surprised that it talked of nothing else for three whole days.
On the same day she received one of Florian’s fond letters, begging her to write oftener and more kindly.
She replied at once, saying that she had been too busy to write, and knew that he would excuse her when he received her next letter, in which she would have something important to tell him.
In her dread lest Florian’s resentment of her treachery should lead him to betray her to Desha, she had finally resolved not to write to her jilted lover until the day after the wedding.
“Philip will be my own then—no one can take him from me,” she thought, feverishly; for now and then a faint foreboding of evil made her heart quake with fear lest she should lose him yet by some untoward stroke of fate.
It lacked but ten days to the wedding now, and lively preparations were going forward for a grand church ceremony, and afterward for a magnificent home reception before the happy pair started on their Southern tour.
A splendid trousseau was being prepared in New York, and arrived each day in detachments, taking up so much time in trying on that Viola scarcely had time to spare for her lover.
At breakfast that morning Judge Van Lew said to his daughter and sister:
“I have employed a young man to prepare some statistics for me from some valuable books in my library. He will come at about ten o’clock, and you will please see that he has uninterrupted use of the library, as it will take several days to do the task, and I am in a hurry for these statistics.”
“Very well,” replied Mrs. Herman; adding carelessly: “What is his name?”
“He is Rolfe Maxwell—a very interesting young man. Came to Washington recently to try to secure a pension for his mother, whom he is supporting by journalistic work. Unfortunately, he lost his position on a good New York daily, by a long spell of illness, and must now do anything that comes to hand until he can get more reporting to do. He was well recommended to me by a senator for whom he had done some work, and I was very glad to get him to do this job for me. You need not think he will be at all in the way, Edwina, as he will take his meals at home each day.”
He rose, kissed Viola good-bye as usual, and hurried away to his department, while she said regretfully to her aunt:
“I am sorry he is coming. Philip always likes to be entertained in the library.”
“Oh, well, there’s plenty of room elsewhere. It would not be well to hinder your father’s business for a mere whim; besides, the poor young man may stand in need of the money,” replied the kind old lady.
Viola agreed with her and dismissed the subject from her mind; but not so Aunt Edwina, whom a mild curiosity induced to receive Rolfe Maxwell when he made his appearance promptly at ten o’clock.
She remained a few minutes conversing with him, then returned to the dainty morning-room, where she usually sat with Viola.
The beautiful girl glanced up with languid interest, asking:
“Did you like him, auntie?”
“Oh, a very nice young man,” carelessly.
“Handsome?”
“That is always your first thought about a man, Viola. Handsome is as handsome does, you know,” returned Mrs. Herman, cautiously. She did not know that her niece had foresworn flirting, and she dreaded her propensities in that line too much to confess to her that Rolfe Maxwell, though slight and pale from recent devastating illness, was one of the most elegant-looking men she had ever beheld—tall and stately, with magnificent Oriental dark eyes and hair, and with a soldierly bearing full of quiet, impressive dignity.
In order to allay Viola’s interest, she added, sympathetically:
“I hope your papa will pay him well for his work, for he looks like he needed it, poor fellow. He is almost shabby, although perfectly neat, and so pale and thin, as if he hardly had enough to eat, although I remember now that your papa said he had been ill, which may account for his ghastly looks.”
She flattered herself that she had entirely squelched any coquettish interest Viola might have in the newcomer, deeming it her duty to do so, for though the girl was to be married in a week, her aunt had full confidence in her ability to break another heart in that brief space of time if she took it into her head to do it.
But Viola was listening carelessly, her thoughts all with Philip, who had said he would call on his way to the Capitol this morning.
He came presently, and was ushered into the morning-room, from which Aunt Edwina discreetly withdrew.
Viola met her lover with a glad smile and blush and did not refuse the kiss he pressed on her dewy red lips.
“We are banished from the library because papa has a man doing some work for him in there,” she said. “Sit down, Philip, dear, while I scold you for breaking your engagement to come last night.”
“I sent you a note explaining that my cousin, Mrs. Wellford, had sent for me,” Professor Desha answered, sitting down on the satin divan by her side and pressing the soft, jeweled hand she slipped into his so confidingly.
“Yes, I received your note. Of course I excused you, though I missed you very much!” Viola cried, with her most sweetly reproachful air. Then she gave a slight start, and added: “Dearest, how pale you are! What is wrong? Are you ill?”
Professor Desha did indeed look pale and heavy-eyed, and his voice sounded strange as he answered:
“I am sorry you noticed it; but—I am not feeling very well. I had a bad night; was restless, and scarcely slept at all.”
His grave blue eyes searched her face closely, plaintively, as if some jealous doubt haunted his mind; but the perfect tenderness and joy of her manner were enough to dissipate any fears, and presently she charmed him from the gray mood in which he had entered her presence.
Her gayety cost her an effort, too, for she was secretly frightened when she saw what a shadow lurked in his grave blue eyes. She was a coward at heart, always dreading for him to find out something she feared for him to know.
Had she guessed what was in his thoughts, as he sat so quietly by her side, she must have fallen down fainting at his feet in her remorse and shame.
Ruby Wellford had played a clever card in her longing to defeat Viola, and a thorn was planted in his manly heart that would ache there many a day.
But he had not showed his cousin the pain he had felt, he had simply answered:
“I am sorry for the poor young man. I dare say that Viola was more thoughtless than wilfully wicked. She is so young, you know, and has missed a mother’s care.”
“Philip, you do not mean that you will go on dangling after the girl after hearing this—this appalling story!” she cried, almost indignantly.
Then he took her hand and said, very gently and kindly:
“Ruby, you know I appreciate your kindness, and am sorry Viola has flirted so recklessly, but—but she will never break my heart.”
“But, Phil, every one is saying that you are her latest victim.”
“Her latest and her last,” he replied, significantly; and as she cried out that she did not understand, he added: “You have told me a secret, and I will return your confidence. I promised Viola to keep it till tomorrow, but I do not think she would care if I told you now—under the circumstances.”
“What is your secret?” she cried eagerly, and he answered, proudly:
“Only this: you will receive our wedding-cards tomorrow.”
“Yours—and Viola’s! Do you mean it really, Phil?” she demanded, in astonishment.
“Yes, it is true. We have been engaged ever since January, but Viola wished to keep it secret to spring a great sensation on her friends.”
“She will certainly succeed, for no one ever dreamed she had a heart!” exclaimed the lady; then noticing how very pale he had grown, she added, repentantly: “Dear Phil, forgive me for my blundering! If I had dreamed how matters really stood, I would rather have bitten off the extreme end of my tongue than have tattled to you about young Merrington.”
“I forgive you, Ruby. You thought you were acting for my good, and I appreciate it,” he replied in a hollow voice, and left the house to spend the restless night that sent him to Viola’s side so pale and serious-looking the next morning.
Beautiful Viola, who knew so well how to charm every heart, did not rest till she had chased the shadows from her lover’s brow.
“You are tired of my chatter. Come, I will sing to you,” she cried, going with him to the music-room that adjoined the library.
Mr. Maxwell, working diligently among her father’s books, lifted his dark, finely shaped head to listen, and the voice sounded to him like an angel’s, it was so clear and sweet.
“It is Miss Van Lew, I suppose. How rarely she is gifted—queen of song and love and beauty!” he thought; for although he was a stranger to Viola, he had seen her more than once, and the story of her coquetry had reached his ears.
He worked on diligently, but he did not lose one note of her sweet music, or one word of her songs.
“She must be singing to some favored lover,” he said to himself, marking the tenderness that freighted her voice.
By and by the music ceased, and he heard them going out of the room, but he did not know that the girl had said:
“I must stop, for perhaps I am disturbing the young man in the library. Oh, Philip, would it not be great fun to pretend to go in there for a book just to see what he looks like?”
“By no means, Viola. I am sure it would appear to him like vulgar curiosity,” he replied, almost sharply, bringing a quick blush to her brow.
He went away soon after, and Viola left the room to go upstairs to examine some new things just arrived.
Rolfe Maxwell was just going out to his midday luncheon, and they encountered each other in the wide hall.
It gave each of them a queer start; but Viola rallied quickly, saying, kindly:
“Mr. Maxwell, I am sure.”
“At your service, Miss Van Lew,” he replied, with a distant, but most courteous bow, and a swift glance quickly withdrawn as he hurried to the door and passed out.
Viola went slowly up the broad steps to her own apartments, her fair cheeks burning with the blush that had colored them at his sudden glance.
“How silly I am—blushing like a school-girl under a stranger’s glance,” she thought, vexedly. “But really—what splendid, large black eyes! They gave me a positive thrill!”