She went out, closing the door softly, and Regina felt more desolate than ever. Was Mr. Palma displeased, because she had gone visiting without waiting for his consent? If she had been more patient, might not this fearful discovery have been averted? Was her sorrow part of the wages of her disobedient haste? What had become of her purse? How could she without exciting suspicion obtain the money she had so positively promised? She rang the bell, and sent Hattie to request Farley to examine the carriage, and see if she had not dropped her _porte-monnaie_ into some of its crevices. It was a long time before the servant returned, alleging in excuse that she had been detained to assist is dressing Miss Olga. Farley had searched everywhere, and could not find the purse. Hattie hurried away to Mrs. Palma, and Regina unlocked a small drawer of her bureau, and took out what remained of her semi-annual allowance of pocket money. She counted it carefully, but found only thirteen dollars. If she could have recovered her _porte-monnaie_ she would have had twenty dollars to offer, and even that seemed mockingly insufficient, as the price of silence, of temporary escape from humiliation. What could she do? She had never asked a cent from her guardian, and the necessity of appealing to him was inexpressibly mortifying; but to whom could she apply? "'But Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these'--society tiger lilies." The door swung wide open, and as she spoke Olga seemed to swim into the room, so quick yet noiseless was her entrance. At the sound of her voice, Regina dropped the money back into the drawer, and turned to inspect the elegant toilette, which consisted of gold-coloured silk and Mechlin lace, rich yellow roses with sulphurous hearts, and a very complete set of topaz, which flashed amber rays over the neck, ears, and arms of the wearer. With her brilliant complexion, sparkling eyes, and hair elaborately powdered with gold dust, she seemed a vision of light, at whom Regina gazed with unfeigned admiration. "Beautiful, Olga; beautiful." "The textile fabrics, the silk and lace? Or the human framework, the flesh and blood machine that serves as lay figure to show off the statuesque folds, the creamy waves of cosily Mechlin, the Persian roses, and expensive pebbles?" "Both. The dress, and the wearer. I never saw you look so well."