It had been her own plan.

The long weeks of Clayton's complete self-surrender had brought about no forward step in Irma Gluyas' intimacy.
The still silent Madame Raffoni was the careful guardian of the veiled beauty, and Clayton, loyal to a frenzy of romantic faith, had never broken his promise.
For he lived only now in Irma's whispered promise, "Wait, and trust to me.

You shall come to me as soon as I can break my bonds.

It shall be then you and I, for the rest of our days, if Love still holds the helm." It was long after midnight when the defiant lover returned to his apartment.

The Magyar witch had finally learned the last secret of his honest heart, and with clinging arms had whispered through her kisses, "If you leave me, Randall, it is the death of our love." And, trusting blindly to his honest love, Clayton wagered his life upon a woman's faith.
Under the door of his room lay a yellow envelope, and as the now resolute man read it he smiled grimly.