The rose-tinted silken blinds were drawn in the boudoir, the house in Lytton Avenue was hushed, there was a smell of eau-de-cologne on the perfumed air. Society deeply regretted to hear that Countess Lalage was suffering from nervous prostration. Leona Lalage lay there pressing her hands to her head fiercely. It was only latterly that she had suffered from these nerve troubles. Hitherto she had regarded herself as absolutely invincible to anything of the kind.

A queer sort of fainting fit had been followed by a ghastly sense of fear. Intrigue had hitherto been the very air that this woman breathed. Now she was frightened, every ring of the bell sent her heart into her mouth.

She was horribly frightened. If she could only have seen her antagonist it would have been bearable. But she was fighting shadows. Whichever way she turned she found herself checkmated and beaten.

Somebody had found her out. It must be so, because all her plans were anticipated by the terrible antagonist who worked in the dark. Her case was much like that of a despairing criminal who takes one huge sum to conceal the loss of another until the inevitable crash comes.

"If my brain gives way now," she muttered, "if my reason plays me false now even for a day I--but I dare not think of it. Well, what do you want?"

A liveried servant looking into the darkened room murmured that Dr. Bruce had arrived. Bruce came in with his softest professional manner. He was sorry to hear that anything was wrong, he asked a great many pertinent questions.

"You have overdone yourself," he said with his cool hand on the fevered pulse. "Few men could stand the strain of your present life. You must go away at once to some very quiet place and be in the open air all day----"

Leona Lalage laughed aloud. The touch of those cool fingers thrilled her. To go away now, to abandon it all just when----. Ah, the thing was impossible. She might just as well have cast herself off Waterloo Bridge.

"Excuse me," she gasped, "I am a little mad today. My dear boy, I cannot go away, the thing is impossible. If you could only look into my heart--but nobody can do that. Oh, Gordon, Gordon!"

Her voice sank to a thrilling whisper. Bruce touched her hand soothingly. The mere contact of his fingers seemed to madden her.

"Don\'t do that," she said, in the same strained whisper. "If you only knew how I cared for you, how I love you. There is nothing I would not do for you! I am rich and powerful, and men who know say I am beautiful. Take me away, make me your wife, and you shall never know a moment\'s pain. Your good name is gone, Gordon--but what does that matter. If----"

She paused as Gordon recoiled from her. His eyes were full of loathing.

"Forget this," he said, sternly. "Put it from your mind, as I shall do. It is a passing madness. My future wife would blush if she could hear you."

The woman\'s eyes dilated, her bosom heaved. She might have been waking as from a trance. She was fighting passionately for the mastery of herself. It was a short,............