“I have wealth now,” she went on, wearily, “and will be one of the wealthiest women in the great metropolis. But, ah, what is it worth to the love of one true heart that I could love in return?”
And the beautiful woman sank back in the cushions of the velvet chair, and something very like a tear glistened in the proud, dark eyes.
Then she suddenly pressed her hand to her heart, muttering:
“There may be happiness in store for me yet, but it will be after he dies and leaves me freedom and his wealth,” and she gazed intently at the white face which seemed to grow whiter still under the softened rays of the gas jets with their opaline shades.
The little French clock on the mantel struck the hour.
Queenie started to her feet.
“It is time for the first dose of powders which the doctor left,” she muttered, reaching her jeweled hand toward the table for them.
Then suddenly her hand dropped to her side and she glanced furtively about the luxurious room.
“If I did not follow the doctor’s instructions in regard to giving him the powder, who is to know?” she whispered under her breath.
For an instant she stood motionless, with the contents of the little white paper containing the life-giving powder clutched tightly in her hand.