HER FATE
"How extraordinary men are!" Violet stretched her arms high above her head and let them fall. Her eyes were turned contemplatively towards the sinking sun. "This man for instance who might have been—who should have been—my father. He loved her, you know; he must have loved her, or he wouldn't have remained single all these years. And she worshipped him. Yet on the very eve of marriage—he jilted her. Extraordinary!"
"How do you know she worshipped him?" Olga spoke with slight constraint; it seemed to her that the matter was too sacred for casual discussion.
"How do I know? My dear, it is written in black and white on the back of his photograph. 'The only being I have it in me to love—sovereign lord of my heart!' Fancy writing that of any man! I couldn't, could you?"
"I don't know," said Olga soberly.
Violet laughed. "You're such a queer child! One day you come flying to me for protection, and almost the day after, you—"
"Please, Violet!" Olga broke in sharply. "You know I don't like it!"
"Oh, very well, my dear, very well! The subject is closed. We will return to the renowned Sir Kersley. He was watching me all luncheon-time. Did you notice?"
Olga had noticed. "Are you very like your mother?" she asked.
"I am better-looking than she ever was," said Violet, without vanity. "You see, my father, Judge Campion (he was nearly sixty when he married her, by the way), was considered the handsomest man in India at the time. She was a Californian, and very Southern in temperament, I believe. I often rather wish I could have seen her, though she would probably have hated me for not being the child of the man she loved. She died almost before I was born however. I daresay it's as well. I'm sure we shouldn't have got on."