“You can then drop me off, when we are sure that the taste of pleasure is gently awakened, and you are free to then show her all your generous liberality. Take her home to your daily life, then once that the confidential relation is established—” Vreeland’s eyes gleamed in a coming triumph. The way shone out, “straight and sweet,” before him. “Miss Joanna, you are a good fairy, and a keen-witted genius. I will give you _carte blanche_ to lead her out along the rosy path, step by step, and a path that leads always toward me.” Mr. Harold Vreeland moved on serenely and laid his pitfalls for the pure young girl, whom chance had thrown in his way, with no compunction. In the blighted career of his own dishonored father, he had only despised the weaknesses which led to failure. He had seen the downfall of Hathorn without a throb of sympathy and he resented the frank, honest predilection which was now leading the warm-hearted Potter to screen Alida Hathorn from a mob of cold-hearted “woman eaters” in honorable marriage. Mean at heart, he even doubted the past life of the woman who had lifted him up to luxury. He hated her now only that his charms of person and manner had not brought her to his feet, a willing dupe. “She seemed to be impressed at first,” he mused. “But the shock of Hathorn’s cold abandonment in his little tiger cat wife’s jealous frenzy seems to have turned her against man, for a time. “But, let me only get a hold on her. I do not care to be the star actor in a modern ‘Romance of a Poor Young Man.’ She shall not shake me off.” He plotted deliberately against her peace—his generous benefactress. “First, the tapping of the private lines. Then, to mold Romaine Garland to my will. If she does not yield to Joanna Marble’s smooth ways, then out into the streets of New York. “There are others, more complaisant; but to awaken those dark eyes to pleasure’s glow. To have them quicken at my coming.” It was with these “undreamed dreams” haunting him that Harold Vreeland arrived, in sedate splendor, at the “Circassia,” where “the feast was set” for Senator Alynton and that Western wonder of recent occultation, Senator-elect James Garston. In the kaleidoscopic splendors of the drawing-room, where manly eyes gleamed upon the beauties of splendid womanhood, among the fair daughters of Eve he missed that brilliant blonde heiress, Miss Katharine VanDyke Norreys. A tap from Mrs. Volney McMorris’ fan recalled him. “I know that you are looking for her,” whispered the radiant duenna. “Katharine is a sort of ward of Senator Garston. He is her trustee. They all come together. I must have a word with you about poor—” The entrance of Mrs. Elaine Willoughby brought the splendid circle around her, there where gleaming lights and the breath of matchless flowers, where diamonds and brightest eyes, where ivory bosoms and shapely silver shoulders were mingling charms of a modern Paradise of throbbing, hungry hearts.