“I shouldn’t wonder in the least,” responded the young, lady, coolly.  “I never knew how much I liked poor dear Hugh until I gave him his congé.  He’s so very, very, very handsome, you see, Miriam; and I adore beauty.”

“Very well.  Find out if it’s he—­and find out at once.”

“More easily said than done, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.  You don’t suppose he has left the city?”

“No.  He told me that he would not leave—­that he would remain and watch me, unseen and unknown.”

“Then, if you advertise—­if you address him through the medium of the daily papers—­he will see and answer your advertisement.”

“Very probably.  But he isn’t going to tell me who he is.  If he had any intention of doing so, he would have done it last week.”

Miriam shook her head.

“I’m not so sure about that.  You never asked him to reveal himself.  You gave him no reason to suppose you would do otherwise than scorn and flout him, let him be who he might.  It is different now.  If it is Hugh Ingelow, you will forgive him all?”

“Miriam, see here:  why are you so anxious I should forgive this man?”

“Because I want to see you some respectable man’s wife; because I want to see you safely settled in life, and no longer left to your own caprices, or those of Carl Walraven.  If you love this Hugh Ingelow, and marry him, you may probably become a rational being and a sensible matron yet.”

Mollie made a wry face.

“The last thing I ever want to be.  And I don’t believe half a dozen husbands would ever transform me into a ‘sensible matron.’  But go on, all the same.  I’m open to suggestion.  What do you want me to do?”

“Address this man.  Ask him to appoint a meeting.  Meet him.  Tell him what you have told me, and make him reveal himself.  He will be sure to do it, if he thinks there are grounds for hope.”

“And if it turns out to be Sardonyx or Oleander—­and I have a presentiment that it’s the latter—­what then?”

“‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’  I don’t believe it is either.  From what you tell me of them, I am sure neither would behave so honorably at the last—­keeping his promise and fetching you home.”

“There is something in that,” said Mollie, thoughtfully.  “Unless, indeed, they grew tired of me, or were afraid to imprison me longer.  And my masked husband talked, at the parting, as neither of these reptiles could talk.  It may be some one of whom I have never thought—­who knows?  I’ve had such a quantity of lovers that I couldn’t possibly keep the run of them.  However, as I’m dying to meet him again, whoever he is, I’ll take your advice and address him.”

Miriam rose.

“That is well.  And now I must be going.  It is past three, and New York streets will presently be astir.  I have a long way to go, and no wish to be seen.”

“Miriam, stop.  Can’t I do anything to assist you?  You are half starved, I know:  and so miserably clad.  Do—­do let me aid you?”