“A MAN’S HEART IS NOT SIMPLY A TOY!”
Before Viola went to the Capitol that morning she had gone through
something of a scene with her father.
After breakfast he had asked her to come with him to the library for a
few moments.
Fondly slipping her little hand through his arm, she had danced along
by his side, exclaiming curiously:
“Papa, dear, what makes you look so grumpy this morning?”
“You will soon know,” he replied, sternly, handing her a chair.
Judge Van Lew was a fine looking man about fifty years old, whose life
had been prematurely saddened by the loss of two beautiful sons in
their early childhood, and afterward of his wife, when Viola was eleven
years old.
Mrs. Herman, his widowed sister, had very willingly agreed to preside
over his household when, several years before, he had accepted a high
position in Washington and removed there from his native state, West
Virginia, where he had occupied a seat on the judicial bench.
Viola had been educated at a high-class boarding-school in Baltimore,
and only a year ago had graduated and made her _entrée_ into
Washington society. Her grace and beauty and sprightliness had at once
made her a much-admired belle.
Judge Van Lew was a quiet, undemonstrative man, absorbed in politics
since his wife’s death, and caring little for social diversions; but he
was both fond and proud of Viola, and helped his sister Edwina to spoil
her to the top of her bent. His daughter knew only the sunny side of
his character, but the reverse of it was stern and hard, a fact she was
yet to learn to her sorrow.
Leaving Viola to the social chaperonage of Mrs. Herman, Judge Van
Lew seldom accompanied her himself to the brilliant functions that
she graced with her dazzling beauty, so it was a long time before a
shocking event opened his horrified eyes to the fact that his beautiful
young daughter was at once the most admired belle and the most reckless
flirt in the gay circles where she moved--and this before she had
attained her nineteenth birthday. And it came upon him with a shock of
surprise.
Viola could not remember that her father had ever given her a cold look
or a harsh word, and she started now at the sternness of his tone,
exclaiming:
“Papa, I hope you have no bad news for me! You haven’t lost all your
money by the failure of some dreadful bank, have you, dear?”
How troubled she looked at the prospect, poor, pretty Viola! and her
likeness to her dead mother so touched his heart, that he hastened to
reassure her, saying:
“You deserve some ill-fortune; but I have not lost my money. I am
not going to tell you that you can have no more new gowns or jewels,
or servants to wait on you, or that you will have to move out of this
luxurious home into cheap lodgings.”
“Then what is it, dear papa? I am just wild with curiosity,” she
replied, uneasily.
“I am going to lecture you, Viola,” he returned, with a sternness that
struck terror to her heart.
“Dear me, what have I done, papa?” she exclaimed, in such innocent
wonder that he found it hard to go on, she had such an appealing air of
injured innocence.
Gathering his courage for the final attack, and steeling his heart
against her appealing eyes, he returned, sadly and gravely:
“Viola, I had a great shock last night, and I could scarcely sleep
afterward, I was so terribly unnerved. Can you guess what I mean?”
“No, papa,” she replied truthfully.
“Then I will tell you, Viola, that I learned last night a dreadful
truth about my dear little daughter whom I believed to be so good and
pretty and tender-hearted. I learned that she is a heartless girl
guilty of sin in the sight of God, although there is no earthly law to
punish her for her folly.”
“Papa!” she gasped in horror, going deathly white with indignation, two
pearly tears flashing into her great luminous gray eyes, almost black
now with excitement. “Papa, who has slandered me to you? Who dares
accuse me of anything wrong?”
She almost fainted when he answered, sternly and rebukingly:
“You thoughtless child, it is only the mercy of God that has saved a
lost soul from being your accuser this moment at the bar of Heaven!”
Viola’s wonder and amazement only increased at this terrible charge
from her father’s lips. She felt herself sinking, almost fainting, as
he caught her hand, looking anxiously into her face.
In a few minutes she recovered herself, and sighed fearfully:
“I do not understand, papa.”
“You have heard nothing?” he exclaimed.
“Nothing, papa,” wildly.
“Then prepare yourself for a great shock, Viola, for surely you can not
be as heartless as the world believes you.”
“Oh, no, papa!” she cried, eagerly, wondering if he had found out her
secret engagement to Florian, and was going to scold her for it.
It was something like that, she discovered the next moment, for he
added:
“You were at Mrs. Dean’s reception last night, and a young government
clerk, George Merrington, proposed to you.”
Viola’s eyes dilated with wonder, but she answered, eagerly:
“Yes, papa, but--I refused him.”
To her amazement, he asked, angrily:
“What right had you, Viola, to refuse him?”
“Why, papa, what a question! I had a right because I did not love him!”
cried Viola, gaining courage again.
“You did not love him, you say, Viola; then why did you lead him to
believe that you did? Why did you flirt with the poor young fellow
till he felt sure of you, and ventured to lay his honest heart at your
feet?” angrily.
“Papa, no man has a right to be sure of a woman’s heart until he has
asked for it and been answered,” she replied, uneasily, seeing that he
was in deadly earnest.
“You are wrong,” he answered, earnestly. “A true man and woman, when
truly in love, may always be sure of each other. The woman may always
show her preference without brushing the bloom from her modesty. All
honor to her for doing so, and everlasting shame for pretending what
she does not feel for the poor triumph of rejecting him at the last.”
Judge Van Lew’s scathing words sank into his daughter’s soul, and she
hid her burning face in her hands, trying to stem the torrent of his
reproaches by faltering:
“Really, papa, I meant no harm. I was simply kind to him. I could not
tell him to go away because I saw he was learning to love me, could I?
And, besides,” hopefully, “you--you would have been furious if I had
accepted him, you know you would. He is only a government clerk, you
know, and I--have refused a senator, a general, some millionaires--and
others,” proudly.
He knew that what she said was true. He would not have accepted George
Merrington for a son-in-law. He was proud, but withal he was just, and
justice ranged him on the side of the discarded suitor.
He answered reproachfully:
“Subterfuge will not help you, Viola; for a good woman can always
find a way to dismiss a man before the affair reaches the point of
a proposal, unless the man is a fool and can not read her face; and
George Merrington was no fool, though he acted like a madman afterward.
You simply coquetted with him, led him on by encouraging smiles and
words, just for the amusement of the moment. Is this not true?”
“Yes, papa; but I meant no harm. I did not regard it as a serious
matter at all. Plenty of girls do the same,” said Viola, frankly,
trying to smile him into a good humor.
But he remained portentously grave, as he returned:
“I believe you have erred through thoughtless vanity, my daughter,
and that you do not realize the sacredness of love. That is the only
excuse I can find for what you have done. But from today I wish you to
turn over a new leaf, and give up this despicable flirting that has so
nearly ended in a terrible tragedy that must have lain heavily on your
conscience forever. You must promise me today that you will never again
lead any man on, to gratify your love of conquest at the expense of his
happiness.”
His words and looks were so solemn that she exclaimed, almost
petulantly:
“Papa, you talk of a tragedy. Do you call a harmless flirtation with
George Merrington a tragedy?”
“A harmless flirtation, Viola! Wait till you hear all,” he exclaimed.
“Well, papa, I am waiting to hear all that you will tell me. Did
George Merrington come to you to complain of my flirting with him?”
sarcastically.
To her amazement and indignation, he replied instantly:
“Yes; he came from the reception where you had refused the offer of his
warm, loving heart, with a girlish laugh and jest, straight to the club
where I was sitting with some gentlemen, and he told me the truth about
you--that you were the most heartless coquette in the world, and had
broken his heart just as you had broken many others. Then crying, ‘Bid
her remember she wrecked my life!’ he whipped out a pistol, and before
any one could prevent the rash deed, fired a bullet into his breast!”
“Ah, Heaven!” shrieked Viola, remorsefully, and sank back like one
dying.
He bent over her in an agony of pitying love, soothing her back to
calmness, saying, gently:
“I knew it would shock you terribly, Viola, but it had to be told.
Indeed, I feared you had heard it already. It must be a lesson to you
hereafter never to amuse yourself at flirting again. A man’s heart is
not simply a toy.”
“Dead! dead! and through my folly! Oh, what a bitter thought!” sobbed
the poor girl, remorsefully.
But her father answered:
“No; thank Heaven, the wound was not a mortal one. The bullet was
meant for his heart, but it was deflected from its course by a silver
card-case in his breast-pocket, and imbedded itself in a less vital
point. He was removed to Garfield Hospital, and will very likely
recover.”
“But every one will be talking about it and blaming me. I can never
hold up my head again!” moaned Viola, and strangely enough, the
keenest inward pang was the instant thought: “What will Professor Desha
say about it?”
To her joy and relief, her father answered, kindly:
“I have taken care of that, Viola, for your sake. There were but
three men with me when young Merrington burst in upon us, and I have
persuaded them to keep the truth a secret. The poor fellow himself
is glad now, that he did not die, and glad that I invented a clever
story to account for his accident. We told his mother, who was frantic
with grief, that he was showing us a pistol supposed not to be
loaded--common occurrence, you know--and it went off and wounded him.
He will get well, I think; and as for you, dear, you must, as I said
just now, turn over a new leaf.”
Viola clung to his neck, sobbing remorsefully:
“Oh, I will--I will, papa, if you will forgive me for the past! I hate
flirting now, and will never be so thoughtless any more!”