Constance felt sorry for her, deeply sorry.  The whole thing seemed not in keeping with her.  She was a home-maker, not a butterfly.  Was Warrington worth it all? asked Constance of herself.  “At least she thinks so,” flashed over her, as Mrs. Warrington rose, and left the room, watchfully guided by Floretta to the next process in her course in beautification.

Constance sank back luxuriously on the cushions of her chaise longue.  She longed to explore the beauty parlor, to leave the rest room and go down the narrow corridor, prying into the secrets of the little dressing rooms that opened into it.  What did they conceal?  Why had Vera seemed so distant?  Was it the natural reaction of the “morning after,” or was Stella really there and was she keeping her away from Mrs. Warrington to prevent friction between two clients that would have been annoying to all?

She could reach no conclusion, except that there was a feeling of luxurious well-being as she lolled back into the deep recesses of the lounge in the corner of the room separated from the next room by a thin board partition.

Suddenly her attention was arrested by muffled voices on the other side of the partition.  She strained her ears.  She could not, of course, see the speakers, or even recognize their voices, but they were a man and a woman.

“We must get the thing settled right away,” she overheard the man’s voice.  “You see how he is?  Every new face attracts him.  See how he took to that new one last night.  Who knows what may happen?  By and by some one may come along and spoil all.”

“Couldn’t we use her?” asked the woman.

“No, you can’t use that woman.  She’s too clever.  But we must do something, right away—­to-night if possible.”

A pause.  “How, then?”

Another pause and the whispered monosyllable, “Dope!”

“What?”

“I have it here.  Use a dozen of them.  They can be snuffed as a powder, or it can be put in a drink.  If you want more—­see, I will put the bottle on this shelf—­’way back.  No one will see it.”

“Don’t you think I ought to write a note, something that will be sure to get him up here?”

“Yes—­just a line or two—­as if in haste.”

There was a sound as if of tearing a sheet of note paper from a pad.

“Is that all right?”

“Yes.  As soon as the market closes.  There will be nothing done to-day.  To-morrow’s the day.  To-night we must get him going and in the meantime a meeting will be held, the plan arranged at the Prince Henry to-night—­and then the smash.  Between them all, he won’t know what has struck him.”

“All right.  You had better go out as you came in.  It’s better that no one up here should suspect anything.”

The voices ceased.

What did it mean!  Constance rose and sauntered around into the next room.  It was empty, but when she looked hastily up on the shelf there was a bottle of white tablets and on a table a pad of note paper from which a sheet had been torn.