And slight things will bring us thoughts fated to last;
The fond hopes that centered in thee are all dead,
But the iron has entered the soul where they fed.
“Like others in seeming, I must walk through life’s part,
Cold, careless, and dreaming—with death in the heart,
No hope, no forgiveness—the spring of life o’er,
All died with that sentence—I love thee no more!”
Viola having made the acquaintance of Rolfe Maxwell thus accidentally, saw him several times afterward, twice when she tripped into the library for a book she wanted, begging in sweetest accents that he would not mind her coming, and several times when they simply passed each other in the hall with polite bows of recognition, undreaming yet of the part each was fated to play in the other’s life. He knew that she was going to be married directly, and that the house was in confusion with the preparations, and he worked as hard as he could to get through with his task, coming back in the evenings and writing sometimes till almost midnight.
So the days slipped quickly by till it was Viola’s wedding-eve.
Tomorrow at high noon she was to be married from a fashionable church, attended by some of the prettiest girls in her set as maids of honor. They were more than anxious to perform this service for Viola in their eagerness to see the irresistible young beauty safely married off out of their way.