She was free to act, eager to do so, but as yet she had found no outlet for her energy or ambition. Also, she was not a little lonely; whenever, as on this day, Maddison was not with her, she was thrown back on herself. At times even, it seemed to her as if she had only freed herself from the active and pressing annoyances of the past, and that in reality she was no more free now than then. She had but flown from one cage to another, and was again beating her wings against the bars in angry endeavor to escape for a stronger and farther flight. After luncheon she sat down before the fire, trying to read a volume of Rossetti that Maddison had given her. The rhyme jingled through her head but made no impression, and conveyed neither sense nor beauty. Throwing the book aside on the floor, she lighted a cigarette and lay back dreamily in the soft, deep chair. The cigarette finished, she closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. She awoke with a start and a shudder; the fire was nearly out, the room was chilly, the afternoon was quickly closing in. She shivered, wondering what sound it was that had aroused her. The maid came in, turning on the electric light as she entered, followed by a tall, elegantly-dressed woman. “Mrs. Harding,” the maid announced. Marian struggled out of the deep chair and looked inquiringly at the stranger. “No, you don’t know me,” said Mrs. Harding; “I’ll tell you who I am in a minute. I’m afraid I woke you out of a snooze? So sorry. It’s almost the only thing one can do on such a beastly afternoon—sleep and drink—and both are stupid by yourself. So I thought I’d trot downstairs and see if you were blue too.” A vague recollection came to Marian of having passed Mrs. Harding on the stairs once or twice. “Won’t you sit down?” she said. “I’ll ring and have the fire made up, and it must be tea time.” She was anxious to learn the real meaning of this intrusion. Any diversion was welcome. “You’re jolly snug here,” Mrs. Harding remarked, after a survey of the room while the maid had stirred up the fire and set the tea table ready. “Mine are rather frowsy, but then my old man’s a bit of a screw. You’ve had better luck than me. Hope it’ll last. That’s the worst of the jolly ones, they get tired so quickly, and if you hold the reins tight they simply kick up and bolt. _I_ know.” As it dawned upon her what was the character—or rather the want of it—of her visitor, Marian examined her face more critically. The woman was insolently handsome; masses of blue-black hair set off to perfection the almost dead-white of her face; the forehead was low and broad, the eyes dark and deep-set under heavy brows; the mouth large and sensuous, showing, when open, a perfect row of teeth; the chin alone was weak. She was expensively dressed, her tight-fitting tailor-made gown showing to advantage the bold outline of the figure.