st little electric brougham in the
world, fragile and delicate as a toy--a fairy's chariot. Then the
fairy herself descended. She cannot be described in detail.

I caught a glimpse of glorious golden hair, softly massive; gray-blue
eyes shot with lightning, restless, devouring, implacable,
indescribably beautiful; a skin wondrously fine, with the purity of
marble and the warmth of velvet; nose and mouth rather too large, but
perfectly formed and breathing the fire and power of love. Really it
was rather later that I saw all this; at the time there was but a
confused impression of elegance and beauty and terrible power.

She passed from the brougham to her railway carriage supremely
unconscious of the hundreds of eyes turned on her, and a general sigh
of satisfaction and appreciation came from the throng as she
disappeared within her compartment. I turned to Janvour.

"Who is she?"

"What?" he exclaimed in surprise. "But my dear Lamar, not to know her
argues one a barbarian."

"Nevertheless, I do not know her."

"Well, you will have an opportunity. She is going to America, and,
since she is on this train, she will, of course, take the same boat as
yourself. But, my friend, beware!"

"But who is she?"

"Desiree Le Mire."

Chapter II.

BEGINNING THE DANCE.

It developed, luckily for me, that my lawyers had allowed themselves to
become unduly excited over a trifle. A discrepancy had been discovered
in my agent's accounts; it was clearly established that he had been
speculating; but the fellow's excessive modesty and moderation had
saved me from any serious inconvenience or loss.

Some twenty thousand or so was the amount, and I did not even put
myself to the trouble of recovering it. I placed a friend of mine, a
plodder and one of those chaps who are honest on account of lack of
imagination, in the position thus vacated and sighed with mild relief.

My experiment with Harry had proved a complete success. Left to the
management of his own affairs, he had shown a wisdom and restraint none
the less welcome because unexpected. He was glad to see me, and I was
no less glad to see him.

There was little new in town.

Bob Garforth, having gambled away his entire patrimony, had shot and
killed himself on the street; Mrs. Ludworth had publicly defied gossip
and smiled with favor on young Driscoll; the new director of the
Metropolitan Museum had announced himself an enemy to tradition and a
friend