"Mrs. Stannard?" she said, as Joyce rose and held out her hand. The long cloak of deep pansy-coloured satin fell back showing its lining of pale violet, and the dark Oriental face lighted with responsive cordiality, while she returned the greetings. Selecting a stately, tall-backed chair, Orienta sank into it, and crossed her dainty feet on a cushion which Barry offered. Her purple hat was like a turban, but its soft folds were neither conspicuous nor eccentric. She chose to keep her hat on, and also retained her long cloak, which, thrown back, disclosed her robe of voluminous folds of dull white silk. Made in Oriental design, it was yet modishly effective and suited well the type of its wearer. Though not beautiful, the woman was wonderfully charming. In looking at her each auditor forgot self and others in contemplation of this strange personality. Each of the four observing her had eyes only for her, and didn't even glance aside to question the others' approval. Without seeming to notice this mute tribute, Orienta began to speak. "We will waste no time in commonplaces," she said, her voice as perfectly modulated as that of a great actress, "they cannot interest us at this time. It is for you to tell me whether or not you wish to command my services in this matter of mystery. If so, well,--if not, I go away, and that is all." The name she had chosen to adopt was a perfect description of her whole personality. Her oval face was of olive complexion; her eyes, not black, but the darkest seal brown; her hair, as it strayed carelessly from the edges of the confining turban, was brown, in moist tendrils at the temples, as if she were under some mental excitement. It was evident,--to the women, at least,--that the scarlet of her full lips, and the flush on her cheek bones, was artificial, but it gave the impression of being frankly so, and not with intent to deceive. It was perfectly applied, at any rate, and the flash of her ivory white teeth made her smile fascinating. "That's the word," Barry Stannard thought, as it occurred to him, "she's fascinating, that's what she is. Not entirely wholesome, not altogether to be trusted, but very, _very_ fascinating." With a subtle understanding, Orienta perceived that Barry had set his stamp of approval on her, and turned her attention to the women. "I in no way urge or insist upon my suggestions," she said. "I only tell you what I can do, and it is for you to say. For you, I suppose, Mrs. Stannard?" "Yes," said Joyce, and her tone was decided. "Yes, it is for me to say, and I say I want you. I want you to tell us anything you can,--_anything_--about the mystery that has come to this house. I want to know who killed my husband, and I want to know why, and all the details of the deed." "Oh," Barry protested, "don't begin with that, Joyce. Let Madame Orienta tell us something of less importance first. Let us have a séance or a reading or whatever the proper term may be, and test her powers."