The hot color surged up to the roots of the clustering black curls on his brow, then receded, leaving him deathly pale again, as he answered, quickly:
“Viola will understand the necessity. Besides, I will leave a little note that will explain. I will soon be back—probably tomorrow evening.”
He took her hand, and said, earnestly:
“Dear mother, you have always been good to your boy, but I see that I have strained your love tonight. Will you try to forgive me for disappointing your wishes about Mae, and be kind to my precious Viola?”
“Of course I will, Rolfe,” she answered.
But he persevered:
“She will need more than kindness—she will need real motherly tenderness and sympathy, for she is nervous and troubled over the shock she has given her father, and is likely to be very unhappy for some time. You will know how to comfort her, will you not, dear mother?”
His voice was so eager and anxious that she answered yes, promising her heart to do her duty by Rolfe’s wife, in spite of her secret resentment for poor Mae’s sake.
When he had left the house she returned to the parlor, and found Viola still sleeping so soundly that she had not the heart to rouse her yet. She drew up a chair and waited awhile, gazing admiringly at the beautiful creature.
Presently Viola stirred restlessly, sighed, and opened her large dreamy eyes upon the unfamiliar scene, and the strange face of her mother-in-law.