I wish to see you most particularly.
Don't lose a moment.
"Very truly,
"BLANCHE."
Ringing the bell, Mrs. Walraven dispatched this little missive, and
then, reclining easily in the downy depths of her violet velvet
_fauteuil_, she fell into a reverie that lasted for upward of an hour.
With sleepy, slow, half-closed eyes, the wicked, smile just curving the
ripe-red mouth, Mme. Blanche wandered in the land of meditation, and had
her little plot all cut and dry as the toy Swiss clock on the low mantel
struck up a lively waltz preparatory to striking eleven. Ere the last
silvery chime had ceased vibrating, the door of the boudoir opened and
Dr. Guy Oleander walked in.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Walraven," said the toxicologist, briskly. "You
sent for me. What's the matter?"
He took off his tall hat, set it on a sofa, threw his gloves into it,
and indulged in a prolonged professional stare at his fair relative.
"Nothing very serious, I imagine. You're the picture of handsome health.
Really, Blanche, the Walraven air seems to agree with you. You grow
fresher, and brighter, and plumper, and better-looking every day.
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