“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. A detective will be here in a few moments to make inquiries into this affair. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. But at least it gave her more time. Ah Coom. ” “Well, you see, something has happened at home. Another labyrinth in hell!" A smile broke over the trader's face. Probably a sick man's whim. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved. .
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