'I think, Miss Stella, you had better come with me for a riding expedition till the evening of the ball,' said the master of the house, who, with the wisdom of the serpent, generally cleared out on the days immediately preceding such festivities.
'But I thought you were to be the villain in Mrs. Joran's comedietta to-morrow night,' answered Stella, with a faint smile.
'Ah, true—the man who drugs people and steals letters.'
'Surely that is not the rôle of a real villain—to drug and steal letters merely. You are going to be a philanthropist in disguise.'
'Thank Heaven! she believes it all,' thought Laurette.
'Do you know, Miss Stella, that sounds a little misanthropical for one who gets letters in handfuls.'
'But how should I know it would be a boon from the gods to have them stolen if I did not get a few?'
'Still, you would not like them all stolen?' He could not help watching her a little curiously. There was some inexplicable change in her whole face and bearing since she had sat in the same place twenty-four hours ago. He saw that, notwithstanding her effort to keep an indifferent, smiling look, her face hardened, and he hastened to change the conversation. 'Are you going to fall into Mrs. Anstey-Hobbs' plan of getting you for the heroine of her little adaptation from the French?'
'No, I think not. One's own little part in life gives me so many jours insipides, without dabbling in other people's.'
'Thank God! she is in a fighting mood,' thought Laurette.