The carriage stopped before a telegraph office as the woman spoke, and Carlotta leaned over and called to the coachman: “Bring me a blank and a pencil!” Then she turned to Marion and said, smilingly: “You must let me send the message to your sister, dear.” Marion told her Dollie’s address, without a moment’s suspicion, but she could not help wondering why it took Carlotta so long to write the message. “I’ll just write a line of condolence to my friend whose sister is dead while I’m about it,” said the woman, as she scribbled another message and handed the two, with the pad and pencil, to the driver. “I just told Dollie that you are staying with me to-night,” she said, calmly, “but to expect you about noon to-morrow; is that right? I can’t possibly think of letting you leave me before eleven.” “All right,” said Marion, smiling. “I hope she won’t be worried. It’s the first time that I have been away from her since I came from the hospital.” “Well, you’ll be separated more in future,” thought the woman again, and, as the outlines of a fiendish plan developed slowly before her vision, her mouth curved in a sneer, which was promptly changed into a smile for Marion’s benefit. “Here we are at home!” she cried, as the carriage stopped again. “My flat is not beautiful, but it is very cozy, and you shall have a room to yourself, so you will be perfectly comfortable.” “But I shall not feel that I am much company for you if I do not remain in the room with you,” said Marion, smiling. “Oh, I’ll feel all right just to know that you are with me. If I can’t sleep I’ll wake you up and make you talk to me.” “All right,” said Marion, “I’ll agree to that; but, dear me, what a pretty home!” she cried, as she stood gazing into the apartment. “Here’s a negligé for you,” said Carlotta, gayly, as she took a flimsy wrapper from the wardrobe and tossed it to Marion. “It’s a trifle too negligé,” said Marion, laughing, as she tried to pull the dainty lace up over her white throat and shoulders. The woman was busy making herself comfortable also, and as she moved about she talked so gayly and laughed so often that Marion began to wonder if she had forgotten her friend’s death completely. “She must be a queer woman,” she thought to herself. “She doesn’t need me at all. I wonder why she asked me to come.” The more she thought it over the more it perplexed her. “Now we’ll have a bite of supper and go to bed,” said Carlotta, with another laugh. “You’ll have a glass of wine, won’t you, dear, and a cigarette, to help digest your welsh rarebit?” Her guest’s great eyes darkened as she stared at her for the space of a second. “Oh, no, thanks,” she said, finally. “I neither drink nor smoke. You know, I am a country girl,” she added, laughing. “Oh, well, if you won’t, you won’t,” was the woman’s answer, and just at that moment the outer door opened unceremoniously.