CHAPTER XII.

The evening was somewhat advanced, but Arthur determined at once to seek
an interview with Miss Ayleff. Hastily arranging his toilet, he walked
briskly up Broadway, revolving in his mind a fit course for fulfilling
his delicate errand.

To shorten his way, he turned into a cross street in the upper part of
the city. As he approached the hall door of a large brick house, his eye
chanced to fall upon a man who was ringing for admittance. The light
from the street lamp fell full upon his face, and he recognized the
features of Philip Searle. At that moment the door was opened, and
Philip entered. Arthur would have passed on, but something in the
appearance of the house arrested his attention, and, on closer scrutiny,
revealed to him its character. One of those impulses which sometimes
sway our actions, tempted him to enter, and learn, if possible,
something further respecting the habits of the man whose scheme he had
been commissioned to thwart. A moment's reflection might have changed
his purpose, but his hand was already upon the bell, and the summons was
quickly answered by a good-looking but faded young woman, with painted
cheeks and gay attire. She fixed her keen, bold eyes upon him for a few
seconds, and then, tossing her ringlets, pertly invited him to enter.

"Who is within?" asked Arthur, standing in the hall.

"Only the girls. Walk in."

"The gentleman who came in before me, is he there?"

"Do you want to see him?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Oh, no. Only I would avoid being seen by any one."

"He will not see you. Come right in." And she threw open the door, and
flaunted in.

Arthur followed her without hesitation.

Bursts of forced and cheerless laughter, and the shrill sound of rude
and flippant talk, smote unpleasantly upon his ear. The room was richly
furnished, but without taste or modesty. The tall mirrors were displayed
with ostentation, and the paintings, offensive in design, hung
conspicuous in showy frames. The numerous gas jets, flashing among
glittering crystal pendants, made vice more glaring and heartlessness
more terribly apparent. Women, with bold and haggard eyes, with brazen
brows, and cheeks from which the roses of virgin shame had been plucked
to bloom no more forever--mostly young girls, scourging their youth into
old age, and gathering poison at once for soul and body--with sensual
indolence reclined upon the rich ottomans, or with fantastic grace
whirled thro