The honey of poison-flowers and all the measureless ill.’”
Viola had no suspicion of what was passing in his mind. She was careful to avoid him, in her humility over her father’s lecture.
She remembered with shame how she had once tried to attract him, and how he had proved his indifference to her arts by remaining away. Very well; she would show him that she was changed, that she too, was indifferent now.
The guests found a new dignity in her manner, a subtle change not easily defined. There was no lingering in alcoves with some spell-bound adorer, no arch glances, sudden, swift, and strange, bewildering masculine hearts.
Sweetly cordial to all, she yet kept strictly to her resolve to “turn over a new leaf.”
He came upon his cousin, Mrs. Wellford, presently, and the handsome young matron said, curiously:
“What has come over Viola tonight? Every one is saying there is something almost sad about her manner. Do you think she can really be grieving about young Merrington, as some are hinting?”
“Young Merrington! I know nothing of him,” he replied, with a start.
“True; you have been out of the swim for more than a month, Phil. Indeed, I was surprised to see you here tonight. Well, as I was saying, this young Merrington—a handsome boy of twenty-two, a government clerk, the protégé of Senator Costigan—was Viola’s latest flirtation.”
“Ah!”