CHAPTER III.

CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

“Pardon me, mademoiselle, but are you ill?” asked the beautiful girl, kindly. “I thought I heard you weeping, and I could not resist speaking to you.”

She looked so sweet and innocent, standing there in the dismal place, that for a moment a flush of shame dyed the black-hearted woman’s features; then a thought of Clayton Graham and the wrong he had done her flashed over her brain, and instantly the flame of jealousy leaped again within her.

“I must fool her,” she thought in that one brief moment. “I must play my cards well, if I am to wreak my vengeance on this girl.”

Almost like magic, a charming smile took the place of her frown, for Carlotta was an actress as well as a singer.

“I am ill, but only from grief,” she murmured, brokenly. “A dear friend has died, and I have only just now heard of it.”

She turned her face a little and put her handkerchief before it. She wanted to be sure that she had perfectly controlled her features.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Marion, sympathetically, as she took a step forward and held out both of her white hands.

“It is dreadful to lose a friend. I am truly sorry for you, Carlotta.”

By this time the wicked woman had formed her plans, and, as she turned and accepted the young girl’s hand, she said to her, pleadingly:

“Dear Miss Marlowe, you are so good and sweet to me that I am almost tempted to ask you a favor.”

“What is it?” asked the girl, with impulsive eagerness. “Oh, I shall be so delighted if I can comfort you.”

“Come home with me to-night, dear,” begged the woman, brokenly. “I shall grieve myself to death if I have to stay alone to-night. Do come; there is nothing to hinder you, is there?”

Marion Marlowe looked astonished at this request from a stranger, but she was not accustomed to stand upon ceremony when the opportunity was offered her to do a kindness.

“Only my twin sister,” was her thoughtful answer. “Dollie will expect me, of course, and will be waiting up. You see she is married, and I am living with her at present. I would feel dreadfully to give her a night of anxiety.”

She spoke so honestly that once more the woman felt a twinge of shame, but she steeled herself promptly against all feelings of sympathy.

“You can send her a message,” she said. “I’ll write it and tell her how kind you are to me. So, now, that is settled, and you are coming. I’ll be ready in a minute and my carriage is waiting.”

Marion helped her to adjust her wraps and then followed her to the carriage, the old door-keeper at the stage door staring after them curiously.

“That is queer,” he muttered, with a shake of his head. “There is mischief in the wind; I’m as sure of it as I’m living.”

But poor, innocent Marion did not dream of mischief; she was only happy to think that she was befriending this woman. Almost the first night of her appearance with the company she had felt that Carlotta disliked her, and her gentle heart had been pained by the thought. She could see no reason why Carlotta should be jealous of her.

“She is far more experienced and clever than I,” she said to herself, for she was too thoroughly modest to ever overrate her own talents.

Now the woman was smiling at her and chatting pleasantly, and the noble girl’s heart was rejoicing in the belief that she had been mistaken in the prima donna’s sentiments and that Carlotta was really a friend to her.

“Is your sister as pretty as you are?” asked Carlotta, after they were seated in the carriage. She was gazing steadily at Marion with an expression of admiration.

“Of course you know you are pretty,” she added, quickly. “All pretty women do, so you need not look so horrified.”

“I think Dollie is much prettier than I,” was the low, soft answer. “She has golden hair and eyes like the violets; then her form is so plump, and so pretty and graceful.”

“Wasn’t there something about the two of you in the papers not long ago?” was the singer’s next question. “Wasn’t she abducted or something, and didn’t you rescue her?”

“A man who boarded with us in the country abducted her, yes,” said Marion, slowly, “and I followed and saved her; he was Professor Dabroski, the Hypnotist.”

“Heavens! What an experience!” said the woman, feigning great sympathy. “Did he—did he wrong her, Ila? But you need not answer; I see it pains you.”

“I do not know,” said the girl, very sadly, “and poor Dollie will never know, because she has no recollection of her experiences.”

“Well, a man would not meet with much success in your direction,” said the woman, laughing loudly. “I fancy you’d hold your own and make things lively for the one who tried it.”

“I should certainly resent such an attempt,” said the brave girl, sternly, “but I guess I am not so weak as a great many women.”

“Oh, no, you are a little paragon of virtue,” thought the woman, bitterly. “You are a wonderful creature, and men love you because you are virtuous.”

Aloud she responded, suavely: “Well, I’m glad you are strong, my dear. You will need all your strength to resist the men in our profession.”

The carriage stopped before a telegraph office as the woman spoke, and Carlotta leaned over and called to the coachman:

“Bring me a blank and a pencil!” Then she turned to Marion and said, smilingly: “You must let me send the message to your sister, dear.”

Marion told her Dollie’s address, without a moment’s suspicion, but she could not help wondering why it took Carlotta so long to write the message.

“I’ll just write a line of condolence to my friend whose sister is dead while I’m about it,” said the woman, as she scribbled another message and handed the two, with the pad and pencil, to the driver.

“I just told Dollie that you are staying with me to-night,” she said, calmly, “but to expect you about noon to-morrow; is that right? I can’t possibly think of letting you leave me before eleven.”

“All right,” said Marion, smiling. “I hope she won’t be worried. It’s the first time that I have been away from her since I came from the hospital.”

“Well, you’ll be separated more in future,” thought the woman again, and, as the outlines of a fiendish plan developed slowly before her vision, her mouth curved in a sneer, which was promptly changed into a smile for Marion’s benefit.

“Here we are at home!” she cried, as the carriage stopped again. “My flat is not beautiful, but it is very cozy, and you shall have a room to yourself, so you will be perfectly comfortable.”

“But I shall not feel that I am much company for you if I do not remain in the room with you,” said Marion, smiling.

“Oh, I’ll feel all right just to know that you are with me. If I can’t sleep I’ll wake you up and make you talk to me.”

“All right,” said Marion, “I’ll agree to that; but, dear me, what a pretty home!” she cried, as she stood gazing into the apartment.

“Here’s a negligé for you,” said Carlotta, gayly, as she took a flimsy wrapper from the wardrobe and tossed it to Marion.

“It’s a trifle too negligé,” said Marion, laughing, as she tried to pull the dainty lace up over her white throat and shoulders.

The woman was busy making herself comfortable also, and as she moved about she talked so gayly and laughed so often that Marion began to wonder if she had forgotten her friend’s death completely.

“She must be a queer woman,” she thought to herself. “She doesn’t need me at all. I wonder why she asked me to come.”

The more she thought it over the more it perplexed her.

“Now we’ll have a bite of supper and go to bed,” said Carlotta, with another laugh. “You’ll have a glass of wine, won’t you, dear, and a cigarette, to help digest your welsh rarebit?”

Her guest’s great eyes darkened as she stared at her for the space of a second.

“Oh, no, thanks,” she said, finally. “I neither drink nor smoke. You know, I am a country girl,” she added, laughing.

“Oh, well, if you won’t, you won’t,” was the woman’s answer, and just at that moment the outer door opened unceremoniously.

Marion looked up in astonishment. There were two well-dressed men, both glittering with diamonds, standing in the doorway, gazing at her admiringly.