cle.

She had another reason for her satisfaction. The look which had
disturbed her still preyed on her mind. She had a keen desire to learn
how far it had relation to the young girl who lay ill up-stairs. In
order, if possible, to inform herself, she selected the young man to sit
next her at table, and artfully led the conversation to the night of
Caroline's failure.

"You were present," she said, "that night. Was ever success more
perfect, or failure more complete? It drove me wild!"

"I was present," said Hilton, very quietly, for he felt her eyes upon
him with that slow, sidelong glance that has so much cunning in it, and
this put him on his guard.

"She was coming out so magnificently," said Olympia, still vigilant, but
with the white lids drooping over her eyes, "when, all of a sudden, her
voice broke, and she fell. It must have been something in the audience."

"Perhaps," said the young man; "but what? I was looking at her all the
time, and saw nothing. In fact, the house was very still. I have seldom
seen a crowd so breathless."

Olympia turned one long glance on that face, and saw it was immovable in
all the strong, but finely-cut features. Her suspicions grew weaker now,
and she gave her attention more generally to the guests, who were
becoming a little impatient of the exclusive attention paid to Lord
Hilton; but the craft of this woman was as deep as her feelings were
superficial. She could not quite throw off the idea that, in some way,
this very person had been the cause of her defeat, and that his visit to
her house that night would end in some effort to obtain an interview
with the young creature who lay so ill up-stairs.

But she was mistaken. Hilton asked no questions, made no effort to draw
her out, but drifted into the general conversation pleasantly enough,
until the supper was near its close, and the wines had begun to do their
work.

Then the entertainment swept into an orgie; tongues were loosened, eyes
brightened and swam in moisture.

Snatches of bacchanalian songs broke from the laughing lips of Olympia.

She had been in a little awe of her new guest; but now her real nature
broke out. Her wit sparkled like the champagne with which her red lips
were continually moist; her eyes shone under the droop of those long
white lids. She grew confidential with the young noble, and was easily
led by the cool, versatile man, into conversation that she would have
stubbornly avoided earlier in t