“Wait! Wait!” she muttered over and over, between her set teeth. “Just wait until Carlotta has gained her self-control, then look out, Clayte Graham and Marion Marlowe, for, innocent though you are, I shall not spare you! I shall have my revenge! Aye, and it shall be a grand one! Leave a scorned woman alone for plotting vengeance! I shall play my cards most cleverly, but each play shall tell. They shall find me no weakling in the game of love and jealousy!” She staggered to her feet and began dressing rapidly. It was time that she was out of the dark, empty building. Suddenly a light tap sounded on the dressing-room door. The woman opened it and confronted a beautiful young girl. It was “Signorita Ila de Parloa,” according to the programme, but in private life, no other than Marion Marlowe. CHAPTER III. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. “Pardon me, mademoiselle, but are you ill?” asked the beautiful girl, kindly. “I thought I heard you weeping, and I could not resist speaking to you.” She looked so sweet and innocent, standing there in the dismal place, that for a moment a flush of shame dyed the black-hearted woman’s features; then a thought of Clayton Graham and the wrong he had done her flashed over her brain, and instantly the flame of jealousy leaped again within her. “I must fool her,” she thought in that one brief moment. “I must play my cards well, if I am to wreak my vengeance on this girl.” Almost like magic, a charming smile took the place of her frown, for Carlotta was an actress as well as a singer. “I am ill, but only from grief,” she murmured, brokenly. “A dear friend has died, and I have only just now heard of it.” She turned her face a little and put her handkerchief before it. She wanted to be sure that she had perfectly controlled her features. “Oh, I am so sorry,” said Marion, sympathetically, as she took a step forward and held out both of her white hands. “It is dreadful to lose a friend. I am truly sorry for you, Carlotta.” By this time the wicked woman had formed her plans, and, as she turned and accepted the young girl’s hand, she said to her, pleadingly: “Dear Miss Marlowe, you are so good and sweet to me that I am almost tempted to ask you a favor.” “What is it?” asked the girl, with impulsive eagerness. “Oh, I shall be so delighted if I can comfort you.” “Come home with me to-night, dear,” begged the woman, brokenly. “I shall grieve myself to death if I have to stay alone to-night. Do come; there is nothing to hinder you, is there?” Marion Marlowe looked astonished at this request from a stranger, but she was not accustomed to stand upon ceremony when the opportunity was offered her to do a kindness. “Only my twin sister,” was her thoughtful answer. “Dollie will expect me, of course, and will be waiting up. You see she is married, and I am living with her at present. I would feel dreadfully to give her a night of anxiety.”