I shall have my revenge, and Guy will have his inamorata.

I'll send for him at once." Mrs.Walraven rose, sought out her blotting-book, took a sheet of paper and an envelope, and scrawled two or three words to her cousin: "DEAR GUY,--Come to me at once.

I wish to see you most particularly.
Don't lose a moment.
"Very truly, "BLANCHE." Ringing the bell, Mrs.Walraven dispatched this little missive, and then, reclining easily in the downy depths of her violet velvet _fauteuil_, she fell into a reverie that lasted for upward of an hour.
With sleepy, slow, half-closed eyes, the wicked, smile just curving the ripe-red mouth, Mme.

Blanche wandered in the land of meditation, and had her little plot all cut and dry as the toy Swiss clock on the low mantel struck up a lively waltz preparatory to striking eleven.

Ere the last silvery chime had ceased vibrating, the door of the boudoir opened and Dr.Guy Oleander walked in.
"Good-morning, Mrs.Walraven," said the toxicologist, briskly.