Suddenly she comprehended from his emotion the enormity of her offense, and flushed and faltered:
“I am very sorry—and perhaps I ought not to have asked you—but I knew you could do it better than any one else. Forgive me, and—good-bye,” her voice breaking as she moved toward the door.
But at that moment Philip Desha came quickly from behind the curtain and placed himself in her way.
“I beg your pardon for detaining you—Mrs. Maxwell,” he exclaimed, eagerly. “But—but—since our good friend Florian is so busy, will you let me recommend a very talented artist whom I know quite well?”
Viola started, paled, and trembled at the sound of his voice, and her heart smote her with remorse as she gazed into his face and saw what a change had come over it since their parting. With an effort she murmured:
“If you will be so kind, I shall indeed be most grateful.”
Pretty Mae, looking on at the agitation of all three, wondered to herself at the cause of it all.
Florian seized with sudden jealousy of Desha, thought, angrily:
“How clever he is, trying to ingratiate himself with her again! I will forestall his plans, no matter what pangs it costs my own heart!”
Hurrying forward, he exclaimed, eagerly: