The incense of this flattery caused her to imagine the conquests she should then number--little infidelities to Fargus, a number of which, despite all her vows, she committed in that moment of ecstasy. On leaving the opera she took a carriage for the mere vanity of being obsequiously handed through the door. Then, arrived home, she paid the driver double his fare in the embarrassment she felt that he should set her down in such an unfashionable quarter. The next morning, remembering with alarm the infidelities she had imagined to her poor husband, she hastened to church where she renounced them in trembling, hoping perhaps that the divine Providence had not noticed such a minuscule frailty. At the end of the month Bofinger, on repairing to Sheila's, stumbled on a messenger who was bringing a telegram to the door. Convinced for a long time that the absence of Fargus held some mystery of which the woman knew the secret he avidly seized on the occasion offered. Slipping a quarter into the palm of the surprised messenger he bade him return five minutes later. Then he went in hurriedly and going at once to the attack said: "Well, Sheila, what news?" "About Fargus? Nothing." "What! Not even a letter?" "No, indeed." "But he's telegraphed?" he persisted. "He'd never think of that," she said with conviction. "So," he said smiling. "And you're still satisfied there's nothing to fear?" "Why, I am a little worried," she said, deciding to answer thus. "But then I suppose it's only one of his funny ways." At this moment the bell rang and Sheila, answering the door, received the telegram. "Hello, what's that?" the lawyer cried from the parlor. "Only someone at the wrong number," she said, shutting the door. Bofinger rose and with two steps reached her side at the moment she was trying to conceal the telegram in her dress. "Indeed!" he said ironically, twisting the dispatch from her hand. "So this doesn't count?" Sheila, paralyzed with fear, felt the floor swim beneath her. Bofinger, tearing off the cover, found to his great disappointment only this: Begin journey tomorrow. "MAX FARGUS." Without attempting to conceal his vexation, he was tendering the dispatch to Sheila when all at once snatching it back he scanned it for the source. "Mexico!" he exclaimed, and, looking at her with the gleam of the lawyer who has entrapped his witness, he raised his voice to a shout, "MEXICO!" Sheila, who had feared that the contents might reveal the story of the mine, comprehended rapidly that she might yet extricate herself. "Mexico?" she cried with well acted incredulity, and seizing the telegram she read it. "But--but I don't understand! Why Mexico?" "You do it well," he said scornfully. "So Fargus has gone to Mexico. Why?" "My dear fellow," she said, sitting down and studying the telegram, "I am as astonished as you." "Sheila, you're lying to me."