They were nearing the Plaza when Miss Alida directed Adriana's attention to an approaching carriage. It was in a glow of color, and as it drew nearer the colors became robes and wraps of gorgeous shades, and reclining among them was a certain well-known operatic divinity. Harry was with her. His eyes were looking into her eyes, and his whole being was absorbed in the intoxicating sensuous loveliness of his companion. He never saw Adriana. She looked directly at her recreant lover, and he never saw her. There was no need for words. The event was too positive and too flagrant to admit of doubt or palliation. "To-morrow I shall go to Woodsome," said Adriana, as they stood a moment in the hall; "to-night, dear cousin, make an excuse for me, if you please." But Miss Alida followed Adriana to her room and answered: "Make an excuse for you! Nonsense! See Harry, and tell him what you saw. I hate those sulky quarrels where people 'think it best to say nothing.'" "How can I tell him?" "The plainest way is the easiest way. Tell him you saw him driving in the Park, and ask him very sweetly whom he was driving with. If he tells a lie----" "I will not tempt him to lie. What could he do else?" "I would humble him to my very feet." "Then I might as well say, 'Farewell forever,' for a man at my feet could never be my lover and husband. Oh, cousin, I must say 'farewell' in any case. I am so wretched! so wretched!" "Poor girl! I have always told you not to put your trust in a broken reed--alias man. You did so, and you have got a wound for your pains. But, Yanna, my dear, what is now the good of crying for the moon; that is, for a man who is not a broken reed? I advise you to see Harry." "I cannot. See him for me. Please." "What am I to say? You know how apt I am to speak the uppermost thought." "You will say nothing wrong. Do not tell father anything." "There I think you are wrong. Cousin Peter has intuitive wisdom--woman's wisdom, as well as man's craft." "However, say nothing to-night. Make some excuse for me; for I must be alone." So Miss Alida left the sorrowful girl; but as she disrobed herself, she muttered: "What a miracle of ill-luck! I thought something unpleasant would come of Yanna's high spirits--the girl was what the Scotch call _fey_. Harry Filmer is a born fool, and a cultivated fool, and a reckless fool, and every other kind of a fool! Indeed, he is not _a_ fool, he is _the_ fool of the universe. Everything in his hand, and he could not hold it! I will give him a lecture to-night--if he comes to-night, which I doubt. That siren has him in a net, he will go to the opera to see her dance; he will forget Yanna, and then, to-morrow, he will talk of a headache--or an important engagement--and Yanna will despise him far more than if he told the whole truth. To-morrow, of course, for I am sure he will not come to-night; and it is Yanna's last night in the city, too. Men take the heart out of you if you mind their goings-on."