It would be better, she decided, for the present at least, to keep her intentions entirely to herself.  Any hint of her plans to her mother would surely result in permission being refused.  The man certainly had seemed sincere, honest, and perfectly respectable, even if he was not of the sort one would ask to dinner.  She made up her mind to go down-town to the address given the very first thing to-morrow morning.  If anything should happen to her, she felt that she could always reach her father.  His office was in the next block.

The problem of making the mysterious journey without her mother’s knowledge bothered her not at all.  As in the case of most apartment-house families, she and her mother really saw very little of each other, especially since she had become a “young lady.”  Mrs. Strong went constantly to lectures, to luncheons, to bridge parties, to matinees with her own particular friends.  Jane’s engagements were with another set entirely, school friends most of them, whose parents and hers hardly knew each other.  Both she and her mother habitually breakfasted in bed, generally at different hours, and seldom lunched together.  At dinner, when Mr. Strong was present, there were no intimacies between mother and daughter.  The only times they really saw each other for protracted periods were when they happened to go shopping, or go to the dressmaker’s together, and then the subject always uppermost in the minds of both of them was the all-important and absorbing topic of clothes.  Occasionally, Jane poured at one of her mother’s more formal functions, but for the most part the time of each was taken up in a mad, senseless hunt for amusement.

Suddenly every thought was driven from Jane’s head.  Her face went white, and with difficulty she managed to suppress an alarmed cry.

“What is it, daughter?” asked her mother, noting her perturbation.  “Are you feeling ill?”

“A touch of neuralgia,” she managed to answer.

“Too many late hours,” warned Mrs. Starrett reprovingly.

“I’m afraid so,” said Mrs. Strong.  “As soon as I’ve paid my check we’ll go.”

“I’m perfectly all right now,” said Jane, controlling herself with effort, though her face was still white.

The danger that she had feared had passed for the present at least.  Glancing toward the entrance a moment before she had been terrified to see entering the black-mustached man who had accosted her a few moments before.  Her one thought now had been that he had followed her here, and in a panic she was wondering how she should make explanations if he came up to their table and spoke.  To her great relief he gave no intimation of having seen her, but settled himself into a chair near the door where he was half hidden from her by a great palm.  Furtively she watched him, trying to divine his intention in having followed her there.  Respectable enough though he was in appearance and garb, he did not seem in the least like the sort of man likely to be found at tea-time in an exclusive hotel.  As she studied him she soon saw that his attention seemed to be riveted on some one sitting at the other side of the room.  Wonderingly she let her eyes follow his, and once more it was with difficulty that she suppressed an excited gasp.