MADAME VIOLETTE bridled instantly, and then her woman’s intuition seemed to tell her that something was radically wrong, and that this was more than a simple intrusion. For Madame Moonshine was not looking at her, but at Lorenzo Brayton, and her face was that of a woman scorned.
Brayton could do nothing except stand at the foot of the dais, his face inscrutable, and wonder what was to happen. His mind was working swiftly, but for once it seemed to fail him in an emergency. So he waited, groping meanwhile for a way out of his difficulty.
“So Madame Moonshine means nothing to you?” she cried. “And you are to marry Violette as soon as the big deal is completed, are you? Scoundrel!”
“Madame!” Violette exclaimed. “Have the kindness to remember that you are standing in my house, and that you
