table. "I will telephone for a box to the Alhambra. There is a wonderful
new ballet which every one is going to see."

He called the waiter and paid the bill from a remarkably well-filled
purse. As he replaced the change, it was impossible for him to avoid
seeing a letter addressed and stamped ready for posting, which occupied
one side of the gold bag. The name upon the envelope struck him as being
vaguely familiar; what had he heard lately of Madame de Melbain? It was
associated somehow in his mind with a recent event. It lingered in his
memory for days afterwards.

Louise and the Baroness left the room in silence. In the cloak-room the
latter watched her friend curiously as she arranged her wrap.

"So that is Mr. Wrayson," she remarked.

"Yes!" Louise answered deliberately. "I wish that you had let him go!"

The Baroness laughed softly.

"My dear child," she protested, "why? He seems to me quite a personable
young man, and he may be useful! Who can tell?"

Louise shrugged her shoulders. She stood waiting while the Baroness made
somewhat extensive use of her powder-puff.

"You forget," she said quietly, "that I am already in Mr. Wrayson's debt
pretty heavily."

The Baroness looked quickly around. She considered her young friend a