THE MOTH AND THE STAR.
Florian, hurrying away with sad heart and dejected mien from the
parting with Viola, stopped short at meeting Professor Desha strolling
leisurely toward him. He stared at him in surprise, exclaiming:
“Well met, my friend, for I was going home to send you a message.”
“A message?”
“Yes--that I can not go on with the portrait just now. I am called most
unexpectedly abroad.”
“Something is wrong?” cried the congressman, who had not failed to
observe the pallor of his friend’s face.
“Yes; my father is paralyzed at Carlsbad, and mother has cabled me to
start to her at once. I shall go on tonight to New York, and sail on
the first steamer.” After a moment’s embarrassing pause, he added: “I
have been calling on Miss Van Lew--to tell her we must leave off the
sittings until my return, and to--bid her farewell.”
His voice was so wrung with emotion that it sounded strange in his own
ears, for an almost unconquerable impulse had come over him to confide
to this loyal friend the story of his betrothal to Viola and his
distress at the separation.
Had he yielded to the temptation how much of the pain and tragedy of
the future might have been spared both their hearts!
But he was a man of honor, and he remembered just in time his promise
to Viola to keep secret their engagement.
He crushed back the words struggling for utterance on his lips, and
said instead:
“I can not tell how long I may be absent--not long, if I can help
it--but of course it will depend on the duration of my father’s
illness. Do not forget that I shall hope to resume the sittings for
your portrait as soon as I return. Now, I must hurry away. Good-bye,”
and he held out his hand.
Professor Desha grasped it heartily with many expressions of sympathy
and good will, and they parted thus in the cold air of December, not to
meet again for several months, and then under the lowering shadow of
tragic circumstances.
Desha had seen his friend coming down the steps of the Van Lew mansion,
and he had drawn his own conclusions.
It did not seem to him that even the news of his father’s seizure was
sufficient to bring that despairing look to Florian Gay’s handsome
face. He said to himself:
“He adored that beautiful coquette, and has long been hovering between
hope and fear. Now he has put his fate to the test, and been rejected,
poor fellow!”
He was on his way to call on Viola himself, though he had not mentioned
the fact to Florian in the haste of their parting.
The pretext for the visit was to get Viola to join a skating-party
tomorrow to consist of his cousin--a gay society dame--and some other
beaus and belles, the latter of whom Professor Desha had been sent by
the aforesaid cousin to interview on the subject of their willingness.
He could not have explained to himself why he decided to call on
Miss Van Lew first of all. He admired her beauty, to be sure, but he
detested her coquetry, and a wave of indignation passed over him as he
thought of how she had trifled with Florian’s heart, only to reject him
in the end.
“No doubt I shall find her as gay and smiling as if she did not realize
at all that another broken heart lies at her door,” he thought, as he
mounted the steps.
Viola started with surprise when his card was brought up to her room.
“Tell him I will be down immediately,” she exclaimed, hurrying to her
mirror to remove the traces of the tears she had shed over Florian’s
departure.
Then she made a few effective additions to her already elegant morning
toilet, saying to herself:
“I must be quite gay, and not let any one suspect how my heart aches
over Florian’s going. Dear fellow, how fondly he loves me, and how hard
it was for him to leave me! I love him dearly, but I would not have
our engagement known for the world, for then I would have to wear the
willow all during his absence, and perhaps never get another offer.
Dear me, I wonder who will be the next one? Suppose--only suppose--”
She laughed saucily to herself, and the daring wish chased away every
sad thought of Florian, so that she was quite radiant in her welcome
of her visitor, and he could read no slightest sign of emotion on the
sparkling, _riante_ face.
“Oh, did you know that we shall have no more sittings now for our
portraits?” she cried. “Mr. Gay has just left here--perhaps you met
him going out? He came to tell me that he is summoned to Europe by the
illness of his father.”
Not a break in the sweet clear voice; so well did she play her part of
indifference towards the lover for whom she secretly grieved. No one
must guess that, lest she lose the chance of winning new victims.
Professor Desha thought, indignantly:
“How heartless--and how beautiful!”
Aloud he answered, deliberately:
“I am very sorry for Florian. I met him going away. Until he told me
about his father I believed from his woe-begone face that you had given
him his _congé_.”
It was almost a point-blank question, so intently did his large, honest
blue eyes search her face, making her blush up to the edges of her wavy
dark hair, while the long fringe of her lashes swept the rich damask of
her cheek as she cried, with a forced, uneasy laugh:
“You do me injustice indeed. I was very sorry to have him go away. We
are great friends, Florian and I, and I’m afraid I am going to miss him
very much.”
Her candor only made him more certain of his conclusions. He felt quite
positive that Florian had been refused, hence his pallor and dejection,
and her gay indifference. There was no pensive cast on her white brow,
such as one wears for the parting from a dear friend.
But he could not pursue the subject any further, so he stated the
object of his call. His cousin, Mrs. Wellford, wished to have her
join a skating-party the next morning, the party to lunch with her
afterward. Would she come?
Viola thought of her lovely new skating suit, rich violet velvet
trimmed with Russian sable, and rejoiced in her heart at such an
opportunity to display it; but she cast down her eyes demurely, and
appeared to reflect until he added, encouragingly:
“I will call for you at ten o’clock if you will permit me.”
“Thank you, I shall be glad,” she replied, frankly; and then he hurried
away, almost frightened at himself for having impulsively offered her
his escort, and half pleased, half repentant.