"Oh, bother my mother. She has gone to bed, and intends to return to Crumel to-morrow. I suppose she thinks I'm a bad lot. I wish I had not asked her to come up now. And I'm especially sorry that I asked her to come to the Hall to-night. No, Eliza," this to the servant, who entered with a hot dish, "we don't want any supper to-night. Go away and close the door. Oh, dear me," she sprang up when the maid departed and ruffled her red hair, while looking into the mirror, "I wish you'd marry me to-morrow, Ferdy, and take me to Paris. I could get an engagement there, and we could be happy." "But my sister?" Clarice ventured to say, boldly. "Oh, the deuce take your sister. I can't stand her. She looks upon me as though I were dirt. You're always quoting your sister to me. I detest her myself, and if you marry me I'll expect you to do the same. Why should she look down on me? I'm not born a lady, I know, and I am not such a fool as to make up a history, especially when you know all about me. But I'm an honest woman and a clever one. Would your sister have worked as I have done? Would she have made a name for herself, as I have made? Would she be able to earn money--and in a perfectly respectable way, mind you--to keep on this flat, and a motor-brougham? Pshaw! Talk to me of something else than about that mincing, useless sister of yours." Clarice felt annoyed at her character being thus traduced, as she knew that she was not useless, and neither did she mince. But she certainly admitted that she did not approve of Zara Dumps, notwithstanding the catalogue of qualifications for admiration that the dancer had set forth. Zara, slim and dainty, with her graceful figure and pretty face, looked so wonderfully fascinating, as she spoke, that had Clarice really been Ferdy, it is probable she would have taken this beauty into her arms. But Clarice happened to be herself, therefore she looked disdainfully at Zara's airs and graces, and brought round the conversation to more important matters. "You are cross to-night, Zara." "And you are a bear, holding me at arms' length. I never saw you so cold before; one would think I'd lost my good looks"--she glanced into the mirror and laughed--"no, those are all right. Cross? I am cross. Mother has been bothering me in the brougham." "About Osip?" Zara made a dart at Clarice, and clutched her arm. "You know?" "I know that the man who played the part of the Chrysalis--if it may be called a part--is Alfred Osip, for whom the police are looking. Your mother recognised him, when he took his mask off." "I know," muttered Zara, moodily, "and he recognised her. That is why he bolted in such a hurry. I expect he thought the police would arrest him on mother's information before he could get away. I won't see him again, I suppose." "Do you want to?"