“Her tender tones and looks mean nothing. She has tried them on other men; she shall not tangle me in her toils! It is all deceit, and I hate myself for being so weak!”
He got up, fired with bitter anger at himself and her, and made abrupt adieus to her and her aunt, saying he had almost forgotten an appointment with Senator Hoar in the delight of their society. He hoped Viola would soon be well again and enjoying her re-entrance into society, etc.; then he tore himself away.
CHAPTER VII.
’TWIXT LOVE AND HATE.
When Desha was gone, Viola threw herself down among her cushions, actually sobbing aloud in her weakness.
Aunt Edwina exclaimed in alarm:
“There now, you have worked yourself into a nervous spell, talking over your accident. So I must give you some more of the drops the doctor left you.”
“Yes, please do! I feel wretchedly ill and nervous!” exclaimed the young girl; and when her aunt had left the room, she cried out aloud:
“What a cold-hearted wretch! I thought he was getting fond of me! And I—I—thought a great deal of him—more than Florian would like, perhaps, if he knew; but now I believe I hate the wretch more than I ever did before!”
And the angry tears almost blistered her fair cheeks, for the visitor’s seeming indifference had cut deep.