here was just
time to write the letter, and no more.

"Are you going to Paris?" Valeria asked, startled.

"Please write the letter and I will tell you some day what I want it
for."

"Nothing very mad, I hope?"

"No, only a little--judiciously mad."

"Well, there is Madame Bertaux, in the Avenue Kleber, but her you know
already. Let me see. Oh yes, Madame Vauchelet, a charming woman; very
kind and very fond of young people. She is about sixty; a widow; her
husband was in the diplomatic service."

Valeria made these hurried comments while writing the letter.

"She is musical too, and will introduce you, perhaps, to the great
Joubert, and others of that set. You will like her, I am sure. She is
one of the truly good people of this world. If you really are going to
Paris, I shall feel happier if I know that Madame Vauchelet is your
friend."

Sophia's successor announced that the pony-cart was at the door.

Miss Du Prel looked rather anxiously at Hadria and her sister-in-law, as
they stood on the steps to bid her good-bye. There was a look of elation
mixed with devilry, in Hadria's face. The two figures turned and
entered the house together, as the pony-cart passed through the gate.

Hadria always gave Miss Temperley much opportunity for the employment of
tact, finding this tact more elucidating than otherwise to the designs
that it was intended to conceal; it affected them in the manner of a
magnifying-glass. About a couple of years ago, the death of her mother
had thrown Henriette on her own resources, and set free a large amount
of energy that craved a legitimate outlet. The family with whom she was
now living in London, not being related to her, offered but limited
opportunities.

Henriette's eye was fixed, with increasing fondness, upon the Red House.
_There_ lay the callow brood marked out by Nature and man, for her
ministrations. With infinite adroitness, Miss Temperley questioned her
sister-in-law, by inference and suggestion, about the affairs of the
household. Hadria evaded the attempt, but rejoiced, for reasons of her
own, that it was made. She began to find the occupation diverting, and
characteristically did not hesitate to allow her critic to form most
alarming conclusions as to the state of matters at the Red House. She
was pensive, and mild, and a little surprised when Miss Temperley, with
a suppressed gasp, urged that the question was deeply serious. It amused
Hadria to reproduce, for Henriette