“Oh, do let me speak to you one moment,” she cried. “It is a wicked thing you urge me to do, grandpapa, to marry one man while my heart is full of love for another. The blessings of Heaven could not fall on such a sinful marriage.”
“Get up, Violet, do. I never had any taste for private theatricals, and I am disgusted at your lack of good sense in refusing this splendid offer.”
“But my heart was already given to another, you know,” tremblingly. “But,” with sudden propitiatory eagerness, “there’s Amber, you know—she’s not engaged. Perhaps she would take him, and you would still have him in the family, you know.”
“He wouldn’t look at Amber. It’s you he worships! And let me tell you, miss, he’s far handsomer than your vaunted Cecil Grant. Here’s his photograph which he gave me for you. Look! did you ever see such a man as that?”
He held up a cabinet picture before her eyes, and Violet looked at it with some girlish curiosity over her unknown admirer.
It represented a very dark and very handsome man of about twenty-five years. There was no denying that in looks he compared very favorably with Cecil Grant’s manly beauty.
But no sooner did Violet catch a glimpse of the picture than her face began to change from pale to crimson and back again, while her blue eyes glowed with disdain and anger. Drawing back, with a shudder of repulsion, she cried out, scornfully:
“That wretch! That villain! That monster in human form! To dare to offer me his guilty, blood-stained hand! Oh, heavens!”
Judge Camden was so startled by her agitation that he sprang to his feet and demanded, hoarsely:
“Now what the duse do you mean, girl, by calling Harold Castello such outrageous names? Do you know him? Have you ever seen him?”