“Ah, will you not forgive me and be friends again?
“I am coming to call on you this evening to take you to the Garden Theater if you will accompany me. The play is ‘Trilby’—of course you’ve read that wonderful ‘Trilby’ that has made such a sensation—and I think you will enjoy it. Do not refuse, I beg of you.
“Be ready when I call—I send you some roses for you to wear—and I promise you a charming time.
“O. M.
“Union League Club, New York,
May 21st, 1895.”
Floy stood motionless and pale to the lips, gazing at the letter as if it had been a Gorgon’s head and had turned her to stone.
“Oh, Miss Fane, I hope it’s not bad news!” cried the landlady.
Floy roused herself from her trance of indignation, and answered, angrily:
“Mrs. Horton, if a gentleman calls for me this evening you will kindly tell him I am not at home. As for these flowers, you may have them or throw them out of the window.”
“Thank you kindly, miss,” replied the woman, taking them down to ornament her stuffy little parlor.