d trailed its
bedraggled skirts off across Long Island.

For an instant finely thrilled with a delicious sense of the wild
adventure of being alone in a strange house, free to range and pry at
will, she found the full piquancy a bit difficult to relish with
sodden clothing clinging clammily to her body and limbs.

None the less it was quite without definite design that Sally retraced
her way to that suite of rooms in the second story which seemed to be
the quarters of the mistress of the establishment; and it was no
more than common-sense precaution (prompted, it's true, by sheer, idle
curiosity) which moved her to darken windows already shuttered by
drawing their draperies of heavy, rose-coloured silk before switching
on the lights.

It may have been merely the reflection of rose-tinted walls that lent
the face of the girl unwonted colour, but the glow that informed her
eyes as she looked about was unquestionably kindled by envy as much as
by excitement.

Nothing, indeed, lacked to excite envy in that hungry heart of hers.
The bedchamber and its boudoir and bath were not only exquisitely
appointed, but stood prepared for use at a moment's notice; the bed
itself was beautifully dressed; the dressing-table was decked with all
manner of scent-bottles, mirrors, and trays, together with every
conceivable toilet implement in tortoise-shell with a silver-inlay
monogram--apparently A-M-S; the rugs were silken, princely, priceless;
elusive wraiths of seductive perfumes haunted the air like memories of
lost caresses.

And when the girl pursued her investigations to the point of opening
closed doors she found clothes-presses containing a wardrobe to cope
with every imaginable emergency--frocks of silk, of lace, of satin, of
linen; gowns for dinner, the theatre, the street, the opera;
boudoir-robes and negligees without end; wraps innumerable, hats,
shoes, slippers, mules--and a treasure of lingerie to ravish any
woman's heart.

And against all this sybaritic store the intruder had to set the
figure mirrored by a great cheval-glass--the counterfeit of a jaded
shop-girl in shabby, shapeless, sodden garments, her damp, dark hair
framing stringily a pinched and haggard face with wistful, care-worn
eyes.

Her heart ached with a reawakened sense of the cruel unfairness of
life. Her flesh crept with the touch of her rain-soaked clothing. And
in her thoughts temptation stirred like a whispering serpent.

Beyond dispute it was