Constance was not impervious to feminine reason, and here she was.

“Has Miss Larue gone?” she asked when at last she was seated in a comfortable chair again sipping a little aromatic cup of coffee.

“No, she’s resting in one of the little dressing rooms.”

She followed Floretta down the corridor.  Each little compartment had its neat, plain white enameled bed, a dresser and a chair.

Stella smiled as Constance entered.  “Yes,” she murmured in response to the greeting, “I feel quite myself now.”

“Mr. Warrington on the wire,” announced Floretta a moment later, coming down the corridor again with a telephone on a long unwinding wire.

“Hello, Alfred—­oh, rocky this morning,” Constance overheard.  “I said to myself, ’Never again—­until the nest time.  Vera?  Oh, she was as fresh as a lark.  Can I lunch with you downtown?  Of course.’” Then as she hung up the receiver she called, “Floretta, get me a taxi.”

“Yes, Miss Larue.”

“I always have a feeling here,” whispered Stella, “that I am being listened to.  I mean to speak to Vera about it some time.  By the way, wouldn’t you like to join us to-night?  Vera will be along and Mr. Warrington and perhaps ‘Diamond Jack’ Braden—­you know him?”

Constance confessed frankly that she did not have the pleasure of the acquaintance of the well-known turfman and first nighter.

She hesitated.  Perhaps it was that that Stella liked.  Almost any one else would have been overeager to accept.  But to Constance, sure of herself now, nothing of the sort was worth scrambling for.  Besides, she was wondering how a man with the fight of his life on his hands could find time to lunch downtown even with Stella.

“I’ve taken quite a fancy to you,” pressed Stella.

“Thank you, it’s very kind of you,” Constance answered.  “I shall try very hard to be there.”

“I’ll leave a box for you at the office.  Come around after the performance to my dressing room.”

“Miss Larue, your taxi’s waiting,” announced Floretta.

“Thanks.  Are you going now, Mrs. Dunlap?  Yes?  Then ride down in the elevator with me.”

They parted at the foot of the elevator and Constance walked through the arcade of the office building in which the beauty parlor occupied the top floor.  She stopped at a florist’s stand to admire the flowers, but more for an excuse to look back at Stella.

As Stella stepped into a taxicab, showing a generous wealth of silken hosiery beneath the tango gown, Constance was aware that the driver of another cab across the street was also interested.  She noticed that he turned and spoke to his fare through the open window.

The cab swung around to follow the other and Constance caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar face.

“Drummond,” she exclaimed almost aloud.

What did it mean?  Why had the detective been employed to follow Stella?  Instinctively she concluded that he must be engaged by Mrs. Warrington.