Eliza flushed. "Yes. It's mostly love."
"You're not at all the girl I thought you when we first met. You're very—different. I'm sure I won't recognize myself as the hero. Who—or what is the girl in the story?"
"Well, she's just the kind of girl that would appeal to a person like you. She's tall and dark and dashing, and—of course, she's remarkably beautiful. She's very feminine, too."
"What's her name?"
Miss Appleton stammered: "Why—I—called her Violet—until I could think of a better—"
"What's wrong with Violet? You couldn't think of a better name than that. I'm fond of it."
"Oh, it's a good book-name, but for real life it's too—delicate." Eliza felt with vexation that her face was burning. She was sure he was laughing at her.
"Can't I read the manuscript?" he pleaded.
"Heavens! No! I—" She changed the subject abruptly. "I've left word to be called the minute the ice starts to go out. I want to see the last act of the drama."
When O'Neil left her he was vaguely perplexed, for something in her bearing did not seem quite natural. He was forlorn, too, at the prospect of losing her. He wondered if fathers suffered thus, or if a lover could be more deeply pained at a parting than he. Somehow he seemed to share the feelings of both.