While Jack is lounging about the edges of the ball-room, his cheek is brushed by a Jack rose tossed from a near-by box. He looks around and sees leaning over the box rail a woman attired in the costume of a lady of the Russian court. The eyes behind the mask twinkle invitingly, and as she is alone Ashley fastens the rose in his coat, tosses a kiss to the donor and proceeds to look for the door leading to that particular box.
“May I enter, lady fair?” he asks, as he stands upon the threshold.
“On one condition,” the lady in black informs him.
“Name it,” he smiles.
“That you do not ask me to drink a bottle of wine with you; that you talk of something interesting; and that you do not make love to me.”
“And you call that one condition? But I accept,” says Ashley, closing the door behind him. The next instant he suppresses an exclamation and a tendency toward mild protestation. For in closing the door he has caught one finger on a nail which some careless carpenter omitted to drive home, and the digit gets a painful tear.
The lady in black extends sympathy and lends her own dainty lace handkerchief to bind up his wound. As he bends to tie the knot with his teeth the perfume on the lace almost startles him.
“Your first condition, madam, was easily accepted,” he smiles, as he throws himself into a chair and toys with the handkerchief about his finger. “The second is more difficult to live up to, and the third is cruel.” He is carelessly unwrapping the handkerchief as though to rebind it, and is looking for some initial.
“Oh, tell me a story—something I haven’t heard,” yawns the lady in black. “At the first sign of stupidity I shall send you away.”
“A story?” drawls Ashley. Ah, he has found what he sought. In one corner of the handkerchief is the letter “I,” curiously embroidered in silk.