He greeted her constrainedly, for he noticed the heightened color that flashed into her face, crimsoning it from brow to chin, and the dazzling smile of welcome on her lips. Queenie swept into the room and up to his side with the graceful, gliding motion peculiar to her, and which he had always admired so greatly. Then he noticed that she held something in her hand--a letter. “You expected to see your wife,” she began, and then hesitated as though at a loss how to proceed. “Yes,” he answered, and she saw him give a sudden start and turn pale, as he quickly asked: “Is she not--well?” A sudden fire leaped into Queenie’s eyes at his solicitude over Jess, and it hardened her heart toward him for being so interested in any human being save herself. She felt no remorse for what she was about to do; no sorrow for the blow her hand was about to inflict. No one would have dreamed that the sympathy she assumed in the expression of her face as she looked up at him was far from being the real state of her feelings. No one would ever have imagined that beneath her calm demeanor her heart was rent with a war of dark, angry passions, the outcome of a love which she realized was hopeless, by the cold, distant greeting he had given her. She felt within her heart and soul that he was there to claim Jess and take her away with him to happiness and love, instead of being there to inform her that he wished to part from her. Queenie’s keen intuition, her knowledge of men and the world, told her that. Slowly she held up her white, jeweled hand with the letter in it, saying, gently: “The bearers of unwelcome messages often share the fate of the messages they bring. Do not let me be so unfortunate, Joh--Mr. Dinsmore.” Still he did not answer; his eyes were riveted on the letter she held, which he could see bore his name. “This is for you,” she said, gently, “but ere you open it, let me say a few words to you.” Again he bowed his fine, handsome head, wondering what she could have to say to him, and also what Jess could have written to him about, for he believed he recognized the handwriting upon the envelope, and his heart was on fire to tear it open and devour its sweet contents. “Last evening Jess had a caller--a gentleman,” began Queenie, slowly, pretending not to notice the violent start John Dinsmore gave. “He remained an hour or more, and after he left, and Jess had returned to her own room, which is opposite mine, I saw that she was strangely agitated, and yet extremely jubilant--hilariously so. “She did not come into my boudoir to chat, as has been her custom since she has been my guest here, saying she had a letter to write. That was the last I saw of her, as I kissed her good-night and left her.