g as she went. Once in the open air, the brisk autumn breezes
caught something from her hand, and sent little fragments whirling
through space--paper scraps, that might have been dissected particles
of a bank note.

Cora listened in some surprise to the messenger, who broke in upon her
meditations with a trifle less of suavity than was usual in Miss
Arthur's maid.

"A gentleman, to see me! Are you quite sure, Celine?"

Mrs. Arthur, for various reasons, received but few friends, and Celine
thought now that she looked a trifle annoyed.

"Well, Celine, where is the gentleman? Stop," as if struck by a sudden
thought, and changing color slightly, "tell him I am out, but not
until I have got up-stairs," she said; "not until I have had an
opportunity to see him, myself unseen," she thought.

"But, madame," hesitated Celine, "he is in the little parlor. He saw
madame at the upper end of the terrace."

"Confusion! What did he say, girl?" excitedly.

"He said, madame, that he wished to speak with you; that he was an old
friend."

"Well, go along," sharply. "I will see the man."

Celine turned about and Cora followed her almost sullenly. She had
some apprehension as to this unknown caller, but he had seen her, and
whoever he was she must face him, for Cora was no coward.

Celine tripped along thinking intently.

"This man is Edward Percy--Edward Percy, the lover of two women. He
was frightened when he saw this Mrs. Arthur, and my words reassured
him; why? At the mention of a strange caller, she must needs see him
before she permits him an interview--for that is what she meant. Do
they know each other? If so, the plot thickens."

Edward Percy had certainly been agitated at sight of Mrs. Arthur, and
had as certainly recovered when assured that the lady _was_ Mrs.
Arthur. He looked the image of content now, as he lounged at the
window. Under the blonde mustaches, a smile of cunning and triumph
rested; but his eyes looked very blue, very, very calm, very
unfathomable.

"Madame Arthur, sir."

Celine opens the door gently, and admits the form of Cora. Then, as
the two face each other in silence, the door quietly closes, neither
one having glanced toward the girl, who has disappeared.

Cora stands before him, the folds of the crimson shawl falling away
from the plump, graceful shoulders, and mingling with the sweep of her
black cashmere wrapper in rich, graceful contrast. One fair hand
gathers up the crimson fabric an