“What am I to do with this?” asks Dora nervously.

“Read it.  It is addressed to yourself.  You will see I have copied Adrian’s handwriting as closely as possible, and have put his initials A.D. at the end.  And yet”—­with a diabolical smile—­“it is no forgery either, as A.D. are my initials also.”

Opening the note with trembling fingers, Dora reads aloud as follows: 

“Can you—­will you meet me to-morrow at four o’clock in the lime-walk?  I have been cold to you perhaps, but have I not had cause?  You think my slight attentions to another betoken a decrease in my love for you, but in this, dearest, you are mistaken.  I am yours heart and soul.  For the present I dare not declare myself, for the reasons you already know, and for the same reasons am bound to keep up a seeming friendliness with some I would gladly break with altogether.  But I am happy only with you, and happy too in the thought that our hearts beat as one.  Yours forever, A.D.”

Dora, having finished reading the letter, glances at him uneasily.

“And—­what is the meaning of this letter?  What is it written for?  What am I to do with it?” she stammers, beating the precious missive against the palm of her hand, as though in loathing of it.

“You will show it to her.  You will speak of it as a love-letter written to you by Adrian.  You will consult her as to whether it be wise or prudent to accede to his proposal to meet you alone in the lime-walk.  You will, in fact, put out all your powers of deception, which”—­with a sneering smile—­“are great, and so compel her to believe the letter is from him to you.”

“But—­” falters Dora.

“There shall be no ‘but’ in the matter.  You have entered into this affair with me, and you shall pursue it to the end.  If you fail me, I shall betray your share in it—­more than your share—­and paint you in such colors as will shut the doors of society to you.  You understand now, do you?”

“Go on,” says Dora, with colorless lips.

“Ah, I have touched the right chord at last, have I?  Society, your idol, you dare not brave!  Well, to continue, you will also tell her, in your own sweet innocent way”—­with another sneer that makes her quiver with fear and rage—­“to account for Adrian’s decided and almost lover-like attentions to her in the room we visited, that you had had a lovers’ quarrel with him some time before, earlier in the day; that, in his fit of pique, he had sought to be revenged upon you, and soothe his slighted feelings by feigning a sudden interest in her.  You follow me?”

“Yes,” replies the submissive Dora.  Alas, how sincerely she now wishes she had never entered into this hateful intrigue!