Gilda Tempest sat in her room in her uncle's well-appointed flat in Bloomsbury. Her face showed traces of great mental strain. There were no lines in her face, but a drawn expression, which her enemies would have called haggard. She held a copy of the _Morning Post_, and was reading it leisurely until her attention was attracted by a paragraph as follows: "The engagement has been announced of Sir Raife Remington, Bart., of Aldborough Park, Tunbridge Wells, to Miss Hilda Muirhead, daughter of Reginald Pomeroy Muirhead, Esq., President of the Fifth National Bank of Illinois, U.S.A. We understand that the marriage will take place shortly at St George's, Hanover Square." Gilda read this announcement three times. The third time she threw the paper on the floor and stamped upon it. Then, clutching her head with her hands, she sank on to a lounge and sobbed violently, exclaiming: "What have I done to deserve this? Raife! Raife! You were the only one who could have saved me from this hideous nightmare, called life. I have lost you!" Her sobs choked further utterance, and she collapsed, huddled into a tangled mass of broken-hearted, crumpled womanhood. Good, bad, or indifferent, Gilda Tempest had one affection which had penetrated her heart. Her love for Raife was sincere and with all the temptestuous fury of a jealous woman she now hated Hilda Muirhead. She hissed the words between her sobs, "Daughter of Reginald Pomeroy Muirhead, President of the Fifth National Bank of Illinois! Why must she rob me of the only hope I had in life?" With a desperate effort she rose from the lounge and, straightening herself to her full height, staggered across the room to a full-length mirror, where she stood rigidly glaring at her own presentment. The face that had been drawn before she had read the announcement in the _Morning Post_, was now distorted, and her beautiful hair was dishevelled. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Passion was written on the face that now showed lines, lines of rage and rebellion. "I will not obey any more! My life has been a torture. I mutiny! I will win, or I will die!" The door opened softly. Doctor Malsano stood there with folded arms, and in a still, soothing tone, he said, "Gilda, child. Come, tell me what is the meaning of this?" Gilda turned on him with an expression fierce and defiant. For many seconds neither spoke. Then, urbanely, the doctor murmured soothingly: "Come, Gilda! Let me help you in your trouble. What is the reason of your distress?" The girl stood erect, throbbing with intense emotion. Again there was a long silence. Then, bursting into sobs again, she pointed to the newspaper and said, "Read that. See! See what you have done. You have made me a robber, and now you have robbed me of the only desire I have on earth. I will rob you now, for I will kill myself."