“No—nor Viola—as a husband!”
Crisp, and clear, and cold, with an accent of contempt, the words fell, and Rolfe Maxwell started as if the point of a sword had been pressed against his heart. Then he said, huskily:
“Viola wished you to tell me this?”
“Yes, she has left everything to me. I shall take speedy steps to have the marriage annulled and set her free.”
“To marry Desha?”
“Certainly.”
“She wishes it?”
“Of course.”
“Then I shall offer no opposition to her desires,” proudly. “Indeed, I came here this evening to tell her that unless she wished me to stay, I leave tomorrow for Cuba as a war correspondent.”
“A clever idea. It will simplify matters. I thank you in Viola’s name for giving up your slight claim so easily.”