Lola was sleeping very peacefully in a large and rather ornate brass bed, in one of Mrs. Harlan's guest rooms. As she lay there, dressed in one of that lady's absurdly ample night robes, she was smiling to herself happily--some freak of what we choose to call our sub-conscious mind had flashed across her brain--a dream. There was no hardness in her face now, no look of fear, or glitter of excitement in her eyes. She was dreaming of John, and the day he had brought her a beautiful bunch of roses; little Nellie, poor little girl, was there.
"Take them, dear," she muttered softly. "You don't mind, do you, John?" And John smiled back at her, as they both thrilled at the memory of their first kiss. How good he was, she thought; how gentle and--darkness, absolute darkness, such as the mind cannot picture--a fierce pang shooting through her heart, like a flame--slowly--life coming back, life and thought--and memory--but the pain was there, and a horror, a new burning in her blood, like that awful burning in her heart. What was it--this thing that frightened her--this new, strange nature that forced her to do its will? She must get away, far away from these thoughts; she must run, quick--quick, or it would be too late. She must have help. "Father! Father! Father!"
The sound of her own voice woke her, and she found herself sitting up in bed, her hand clutching at her heart.
"Lola! What in the world is it?" Mrs. Harlan came running into her room. "Good heavens, how you frightened me."
"It was a dream," said Lola, the terror slowly fading out of her face. "A bad dream, and such a queer pain, here." She laid her hand again over her heart.
"You're not used to late suppers, I guess," responded the always practical Mrs. Harlan. "Go back to sleep now, because we've a million things to do if we expect to get that afternoon train for Atlantic City. How much money did Dick give you to do your shopping with?"
"I think he said it was five hundred dollars," said Lola carelessly. "I didn't count it. He said I could get what else I needed as we went along."
"He's a prince," exclaimed Mrs. Harlan heartily. "We can stop in and leave an order with Madam Zelya, to be sent after us."
"We can not," replied Lola. "There's just one thing in the world that's worrying me this morning; that is that I was fool enough to pay her all that money."