“Do you think I could have forgiven him for last night—if he had sent a thousand letters?”
“Certainly you would. The poor fellow acted upon impulse last night, and you must admit he had great provocation, too; but he made amends this morning. You have been terribly punished, Viola, for your willful coquetries.”
“I must go now,” she answered, rising quickly.
“Viola, you are never going back to your unloved husband. I must save you from the consequences of your mad mistake.”
“Papa!” wildly.
“I repeat it. You shall never go back to him again. You shall remain here under my charge. I shall speedily procure a divorce for you from this presuming fellow who took advantage of your trouble to betray you into such bonds. Not a word—you have owned you did not love him—leave the rest to me. Why, Edwina, the silly girl is fainting again! I will leave you to bring her to reason, for my word is law!” and he stalked out of the room.
That evening, as he sat alone in his library, a card was brought him, and he said, curtly:
“Show Mr. Maxwell in here.”
Rolfe Maxwell entered, pale but composed, fully anticipating an ordeal of a crucial nature.
“Ah, good-evening, Mr. Maxwell. You have called, I presume, to receive payment for the work you did for me?” sneeringly.