The cousins were standing near one of the long, richly draped windows,
and the silken hangings had fluttered suddenly.

"Nothing but the wind," replied Dr. Oleander, carelessly. "Very well,
Blanche, I take you at your word. I will ask Mollie to-night."

Mrs. Walraven nodded, and turned to go.

"Ask her as quickly as possible. You are to dance the polka quadrille
with her, are you not? After the polka quadrille, then. And now let us
part, or they will begin to think we are hatching another Gunpowder
Plot."

"Or Mr. Carl Walraven may be jealous," suggested Dr. Oleander, with an
unpleasant laugh. "I say, Blanche, the golden-haired Mollie couldn't be
his daughter, could she?"

Mrs. Walraven's black eyes flashed.

"Whoever she is, the sooner she is out of this house the better. I hate
her, Doctor Oleander--your Fair One with the Golden Locks, and I could
go to her funeral with the greatest pleasure!"

The plotting pair separated. Hardly were they gone when the silken
curtains parted and a bright face, framed in yellow ringlets, peeped
out, sparkling with mischief.

"Two women in one house, two cats over one mouse, never agree," quoth
Mollie. "Listeners never hear any good of themselves, but, oh! the