"It's my waltz; wait, Winnie."

But the laughing girl is half way down the long drawing-room, and he hurries after, replacing his mask and pulling on his domino as he goes.

Then Leslie Warburton, with a sigh upon her lips, draws the child again toward her and says:

"You may wait here, Millie; I will take care of Daisy for a short time.

And, Millie, remember in future when Mr. Warburton addresses you, that you are to answer him respectfully. Come, darling."

She turns toward the entrance, the child's hand clasped tightly in her own, and there, directly before her, stands a figure which she has longed, yet dreaded, to meet--the G.o.ddess of Liberty.

With a gasp of surprise, and a heart throbbing with agitation, Leslie Warburton hurriedly replaces her mask and turns to Millie.

"Millie, on second thought, you may take Daisy to her papa's room, and tell him I will be there soon. Daisy, darling, go with Millie."

"But, Mamma,--"

"There, there, dear, go to papa now; mamma will come."

With many a reluctant, backward glance, Daisy suffers herself to be led away, and then the G.o.ddess of Liberty advances and bows before the lady of the mansion.

"I am not mistaken," whispers that lady, glancing about her as if fearing an eavesdropper; "you are--"

"First," interrupts a mellow voice from behind the starry mask, "are _you_ Mrs. Warburton?"

"Yes."

"Then I am Richard Stanhope."

CHAPTER VIII.

VERNET "CALLS A TURN."

Leslie Warburton had replaced her mask, but the face she concealed was engraven upon the memory of her _vis-a-vis_.

A pure pale face, with a firm chin; a rare red mouth, proud yet sensitive; a pair of brown tender eyes, with a touch of sadness in their depths; and a broad low brow, over which cl.u.s.tered thick waves of sunny auburn. She is slender and graceful, carrying her head proudly, and with inherent self-poise in gait and manner.

She glances about her once more, and then says, drawing still nearer the disguised detective:

"I have been looking for you, Mr. Stanhope, and we have met at a fortunate moment. Nearly all the guests have arrived, and everybody is dancing; we may hope for a few undisturbed moments now. You--you have no reason for thinking yourself watched, or your ident.i.ty suspected, I hope?"

"None whatever, madam. Have _you_ any fears of that sort?"

"No; none that are well grounded; I dislike secrecy, and the necessity for it; I suppose I am nervous. Mr. Stanhope," with sudden appeal in her voice, "how much do you know concerning me, and my present business with you?"

"Very little. During my drive hither with Mr. Follingsbee, he told me something like this: He esteemed you very highly; he had known you for years; you desired the services of a detective; he had named me as available, and been authorized by you to secure my services. He said that he knew very little concerning the nature of your business with me, but believed that all that you did would be done wisely, discreetly, and from the best of motives. He pointed you out to me when we entered the house. That is all, madam."

"Thank you. Mr. Follingsbee is, or was, the tried friend, as well as legal adviser, of my adopted father, Thomas Uliman, and I know him to be trustworthy. When he spoke of you, Mr. Stanhope, he knew that I desired, not only a skillful detective, but a true-hearted man; one who would hold a promise sacred, who would go no further than is required in the matter in hand, and who would respect an unhappy woman's secret--should it become known to him."

Her voice died in her throat, and Stanhope rustled his garments uneasily. Then she rallied and went on bravely:

"Mr. Follingsbee a.s.sured me that you were all I could desire."

"Mr. Follingsbee does me an honor which I appreciate."

"And so, Mr. Stanhope, I am about to trust you. Let us sit here, where we shall be un.o.bserved, and tolerably secure from interruption."

She turns toward the divan behind the screen and seats herself thereon, brushing aside her glittering drapery to afford the disguised detective a place beside her.

He hesitates a moment, then takes the proffered seat and says, almost brusquely:

"Madam, give me my instructions as rapidly as possible; the very walls have eyes sometimes, and--I must be away from here before midnight."

"My instructions will be brief. I will state my case, and then answer any questions you find it necessary to ask."

"I shall ask no needless questions, madam."

"Then listen." She nerves herself for a brave effort, and hurries on, her voice somewhat agitated in spite of herself. "For three months past I have been conscious that I am watched, followed, spied upon. I have been much annoyed by this _espionage_. I never drive or walk alone, without feeling that my shadow is not far away. I begin to fear to trust my servants, and to realize that I have an enemy. Mr. Stanhope, I want you to find out who my enemy is."

Behind his starry mask, her listener smiled at this woman-like statement of the case. Then he said, tersely:

"You say that you are being spied upon. How do you know this?"

"At first by intuition, I think; a certain vague, uneasy consciousness of a strange, inharmonious presence near me. Being thus put on my guard and roused to watchfulness, I have contrived to see, on various occasions, the same figure d.o.g.g.i.ng my steps."

"Um! Did you know this figure?"

"No; it was strange to me, but always the same."

"Then your spy is a blunderer. Let us try and sift this matter: A lady may be shadowed for numerous reasons; do you know why you are watched?"

"N--no," hesitatingly.

"So," thought the detective, "she is not quite frank, with me." Then aloud: "Do you suspect any one?"

"No."

"Madam, I must ask some personal questions. Please answer them frankly and truly, or not at all, and be sure that every question is necessary, every answer important."

The lady bows her head, and he proceeds:

"First, then, have you a secret?"

She starts, turns her head away, and is silent.