his heart, forgetting pride,
and doubt, and fear; and Violet, by way of answer, only burst into a
passion of tears. Who would have recognized the proud, brilliant
Tressillian, in the pale, trembling woman who sobbed on his breast with
the _abandon_ of a child, and who, at his passionate kisses, only
blushed like a wild rose?

Telfer evidently thought the transformation complete, for he forgot all
his reserve resolutions and hauteur, and poured out the tenderest love
for a girl who, three months before, he had wished at the devil! And the
Tressillian was conquered at last; she was pitiless no longer, and,
having vanquished him, was, woman-like, ready to be a slave to her
captive; and her eyes were never more dangerous than now, when, shy and
softened, they looked up through their tears into Telfer's.

What old De Tintiniac said of her was true, that all her beauty wanted
to make it perfect was for her to be in love!

So at least I thought, when, several hours afterwards, I met them coming
across the park, and I knew by the gleam of the Major's eyes that he
had lost Calceolaria and won Violet.

"How strange it is," laughed Telfer that evening, when they were alone
in the conservatory, "that you and I, who so hated each other, should
now be so dear to one another. Oh, Violet! how ashamed I have been since
of my unjustifiable prejudices, my abominable discourtesy----"

"You _were_ dreadfully rude," said the Tressillian, smiling; "and judged
me very cruelly by all the false reports that women chose to gossip of
me. But you are wrong. I never hated you. Your father had spoken of you
as so generous, so noble, so chivalrous a soldier, so kind a son, that I
was prepared to admire you immensely, and when you looked so sternly on
me at our first introduction, and I overheard your bitter words about me
at the station, I really was never more vexed and disappointed in my
life. And then a demon entered into me, and I thought--forgive me,
Hamilton--that I would try to make you repent your hasty judgment and
recant your prejudices. But I could not always fight you with the
coolness I wished; your indifference began to pique me more and more.
Wounds from you ranked as they did from no one else, and something
besides pride made me feel your neglect so keenly. I had meant--yes, I
must tell you all," and the Tressillian, in her soft repentance, looked,
Telfer thought, more bewitching than in her most brilliant moments--"I
had wished,