'He is in London, I believe, doing some business in a very large way. People say Griswold is a very rich man; and I suppose he wants to be richer, like all the rest of them, and must pay a price for it--pretty big price too, going to the other end of the world, and leaving his young wife alone so long. She mopes dreadfully; I am quite glad she is going to-night, if it is only to cheer her up. She was in great spirits at getting so good a place. It was bespoke long before you came.' 'You had been talking about me, I suppose?' 'Of course I had. I had just told her you were the finest actress in the world, and she had better make haste to see you.' 'Have you any idea in what part of the theatre Mrs. Griswold would be sitting?' said Miss Montressor. 'I very seldom try to see any one from the stage; and most times, when one does try, one cannot do it. But I will have a look at her, if you will tell me where she will sit.' 'I can tell you,' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'She will be right at the end of the dress circle, last seat but two, right-hand side; and I know what she is going to wear, so that you can tell her by her dress. An old gentleman and an old lady and their son are going with her--it is just a party of four.' 'Tell me about her dress,' said Miss Montressor, 'and the colour of her hair.' 'She has a quantity of very fine brown hair,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'which matches her eyes, and she never wears any ornaments in it. The dress she is going to wear to-night is pale blue velvet, square cut, with turnovers, and very fine guipure lace. She always wears plain gold ornaments with that gown, and a blue-and-gold fan.' 'Very well,' said Miss Montressor; 'I will look out for the blue velvet and the guipure, for the gold ornaments, and the blue-and-gold fan.' A timepiece rang out the hour. 'Dear me, how late it is!' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'I had no notion I had been here so long. I think I must go now, Clara; but I shall get down to see you again before long, and you will come to see me, won't you?' 'My dear Bess, what are you thinking of?' replied her sister. 'How do you suppose I am to keep the secret, which you see I cannot help keeping? It is not unkindness and it is not snobbishness; it is only for the sake of the interests which I cannot afford to throw over. If I am seen going to Mrs. Griswold's house to visit Mrs. Griswold's nurse, why, if she didn't find it out, as I suppose she need not--no doubt I could always see you in a room to ourselves--just fancy how the servants would talk. There is not one in New York, I suppose, by this time who does not know my face; and it would be all over the place in a few hours. No, no you must come and see me when you can. It is muck safer, and just as easy.'