glass of port wine. When the costly, cut crystal decanter and glasses were brought in, Mrs. Abel whispered to her.
“What—all in one bed? You can’t mean it!” exclaimed Mrs. Abel clasping her hands tragically.
“I would not have believed it an hour ago,” replied Mrs. Warden.
“How lucky you were to get safely out of the place, Emilie!”
“Yes—and when we consider,” continued Mrs. Warden, “that not even the heathen—who have nothing—not even an excuse to keep them from wrong—nor any conscience—”
“This surely speaks loudly for all who listen to the teachings of the church,” interrupted Mrs. Abel sympathetically.
“Yes—God knows that—who does it,” replied Mrs. Warden, looking straight ahead, a smile upon her lips. The two friends separated after embracing each other warmly.
Mrs. Warden took hold of the ivory handle and stepped into the trap, the long, grey, train floating behind her. She closed the trap door carefully, without making any noise.
“To Madame Labiche!” she directed. She looked toward Mrs. Abel and said: “Now, Heaven be praised, I can order that silk dress with a clear conscience.”
“Yes, indeed, you can!” was the answer.
Then she hastened into the house.
